


An Unexpected Pilgrimage

by lindoreda



Category: Final Fantasy X, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Final Fantasy X AU, Gen, Just playing in their world, M/M, Romance, Sloppy Makeouts, Slow Burn, Summoner Thorin, There won't be any characters from X, it won't be graphic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 120,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindoreda/pseuds/lindoreda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Shire is attacked by a strange monster in the sky, Bilbo finds himself transported away from everything and everyone he's ever known. Bruised and battered, he meets Summoner Thorin and his Guardians, and has to decide very fast if he has what it takes to survive in this new, utterly hellish world. At least until he can find a way home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Otherworld

**Author's Note:**

> And so here we are, at the beginning of yet another bizarre crossover quest AU. I think the in text explanations should be clear enough, even if you haven't played FFX or if your memory of it is hazy, and I have changed quite a few things to make this more interesting, so don't worry about that. Some of the initial changes might be confusing, but don't worry, it will all make sense in the end. Probably. 
> 
> As always, I'm lindoreda on tumblr as well, and sometimes I blog about the fics I'm working on, as well as posting when new chapters come out.

People who went on adventures had a way of not coming back. Belladonna Took had been fond of saying that that was part of the fun, not knowing what would happen, but it was easy enough for her to say. She wasn’t her son, suddenly an orphan when his mother had failed to return. He had been an adult by then, but close to his mother as he’d been, her loss affected him deeply. The world seemed a little more dangerous once it had swallowed his mother.

And yet. Bilbo Baggins had felt “the itch” as Belladonna had called it. Going on rambles through the woods had been enough, until one day, it hadn’t. He felt the urge to see what lay beyond the Shire, and wondered why no one ever seemed to come back once they were out there. Was the world outside really so wonderful, that no one wanted to come back? Or did they all die, unable to survive in a land more dangerous than the one they had come from?

Bilbo knew that these fears and the itch for adventure had reached their peak when Gandalf appeared, his presence a reminder that some people did manage to come back. The Wizard had been the one to take his mother away, returning alone with little more than a shake of the head and an apology that he hadn’t been fast enough. No other explanation had been given, for all that he might deserve one. He wanted to hate Gandalf at times, because obviously his mother’s death was Gandalf’s fault, but if Gandalf kept coming back, maybe he could too.

That day, Gandalf was in a hurry, dashing down the lane as if he was being chased, and glancing behind him every now and then. Bilbo watched this strange behavior thoughtfully from his front step, but it could have nothing to do with him, could it?

“Ah, there you are,” Gandalf said without preamble, a bit of a reproach in his voice, as though Bilbo’s choice to sit on his doorstep and not in the woods was a personal affront. “We must go, and quickly.”

“Go?” Bilbo repeated, not quite believing his own ears. “Go where? This is all rather sudden-”

“You are needed,” Gandalf continued urgently. “But I could not come here without attracting notice, and I fear if we do not go quickly, there will be trouble.”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Bilbo said stubbornly, even as the itch became unbearably demanding.

Gandalf sighed. “I am offering you the chance at an adventure, but I do not have time to explain, and if you do not take this chance, I fear the consequences may be dire. More than your comfortable life is at stake here.”

Bilbo should have ignored him. It was what a proper Baggins would have done. Well, tea first, then outright refusal. Gandalf wasn’t making any sense, and his mother’s death had made notions of adventure rather unpalatable.

But that was only if he felt like lying to himself.

“Let me get my rucksack and walking stick,” Bilbo said finally, turning and heading back into Bag End.

“Quickly,” Gandalf urged, and when Bilbo emerged, he saw why Gandalf was in such a hurry. Though it was midday, a strange darkness was falling over Hobbiton, and in the distance, he saw a strange form in the sky, large and oddly shapeless, the shadows seemingly coming from its body. Periodically, gouts of flame would emerge from the main body, and smash into the countryside. Bilbo heard screams, and knew it was time to run.

“What is that?” he demanded, struggling to keep pace with Gandalf’s longer legs.

“We call it Sin,” Gandalf said grimly, and that was the last thing he said until they were surrounded by more creatures he had never seen the like of before. Bilbo stumbled, nearly falling into one of the creatures. Covered in spines as they were, he was glad he hit the ground instead.

“Where did they come from?” he asked, gasping for breath. “There were never creatures like that here before.”

“Sin’s body,” Gandalf supplied. “It carries lesser fiends, who are left behind in its’ wake. We must fight them in order to escape.” He handed Bilbo a slim blade, exactly the right size for him, not that that would help much.

“I’ve never used a sword before,” he protested, watching the fiends close in. Nevermind that he had no idea what a fiend even was.

“Experience is the best teacher,” was Gandalf’s only reply before practically flinging himself at one of the fiends, and leaving Bilbo no choice except to follow.

His swings were wild, but the fiends didn’t seem that smart. A few of his hits connected, and that was apparently enough to get them out of the way. Encouraged, he and Gandalf surged forward, but the fiends were endless. A blow across the back of his head sent him sprawling, and the last thing he remembered before darkness claimed him was Gandalf’s voice telling him distantly not to tell anyone where he was from.

\---

Bilbo awoke with a cough, saltwater burning his throat as it escaped his lungs. His eyes felt gritty as he opened them, and rubbing them with his hands only made it worse. When his vision cleared, he saw why: he was lying in shallow water, his upper torso on a sandy beach while his legs were buffeted by the gentle tides of the water they were floating on. He swallowed heavily, ignoring the burn. The Shire was miles from the ocean. How had he come so far? And what had happened to everyone else?

He remembered the heat of the flames and the screams of his neighbors, and nausea bubbled up in his belly.

“There’s someone on the beach!” A young man’s voice called out. From where, Bilbo couldn’t tell. He didn’t think trying to sit up would be a good idea at the moment.

“Go,” another voice answered immediately. This new voice was deeper and rougher, but something about it made Bilbo want to find the speaker. The air of command perhaps. That voice made him want to obey, and if he had more energy, that idea would have chafed.

As it was, when hands seized him, lifting him and turning him over in some kind of inspection, he didn’t even have the strength to object to some of the less necessary parts of the inspection. Really, what purpose did running a hand through his hair serve?

“He’s injured,” the young man reported. “And he’s got toxin in his hair. Coast is clear otherwise.”

“Make sure you clean your hands lad,” a new voice said. “Just a few cuts and scrapes it looks like, but if he has the toxin, Sin must be nearby.”

“Where are you from?” the second voice asked insistently, and Bilbo tried to crane his neck to face the speaker. His head just flopped uselessly back into the sand. He coughed as some of it got into his mouth. Gandalf’s warning was utterly forgotten in the face of choking on the beach.

“Leave it for later, Thorin,” the third voice scolded. “He’s probably still in shock. Let’s get him back to the camp.”

“If Sin is nearby-”

“The Shire,” Bilbo coughed, giving up on sitting up under his own power for the moment. “I’m from the Shire.” Silence greeted his words, to the point that Bilbo wondered if they’d just left him on the beach. He remembered Gandalf’s warning then, and wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake in telling them.

Then, “There’s no point asking him anything while the toxin’s still in his system,” the third voice said, breaking the silence. “Lad, wash out his hair, then bring him back to camp. We’ll send your brother along to help.”

“I don’t need help,” the young man insisted, but he did as he’d been ordered, lifting Bilbo like he was a sack of potatoes, and holding him above the water as he carefully washed out his hair. It felt practiced, as if he had done this many times before.

“What is ‘the toxin’?” Bilbo asked suddenly, startling the lad to the point that his fingers stilled for a moment.

“Sin leaves it behind,” he replied, resuming his work. “It makes your head go funny for a while.”

So they think I’m mad, Bilbo realized. He didn’t feel mad. Weak as a newborn kitten and beat up in ways he’d never felt before, but his mind at least felt fine, recent trauma aside.

“What’s your name?” the young man asked, smoothing back Bilbo’s damp hair and hoisting him back over his shoulder. It wasn’t the most dignified or comfortable way of being carried, but at least he was out of the sand.

“Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins,” he offered, opting not to comment on the young man’s lack of manners in not offering his own name first. He was being carried. It really wasn’t the time. “And you?”

“Kíli, son of Dís, at your service” the young man said, an odd hesitation in his tone.

His mother’s name, Bilbo guessed by the sound of it. The lad hadn’t known his father, and was used to people commenting on it, perhaps. He struggled to find the right words, but was saved by another young man, probably the brother, jogging toward them. The thing that struck Bilbo most about his appearance was the fact that the lad had a braided mustache. Well, that and he seemed taller and more heavily built than the people he was used to. He hadn’t had the chance to look much at Kíli from his position over his shoulder, but another hobbit wouldn’t have carried him this way so easily. Bilbo wasn’t too heavy by hobbit standards, but his belly was properly round.

A memory stirred at the back of his mind, but it was like trying to look directly at a skittish wild animal. He shook his head. No point in dwelling on it. If they were right, his head was being affected by that toxin anyway.

“I told them I could handle it,” Kíli complained as his brother approached. He stumbled on a branch, causing Bilbo to lurch forward precipitously.

“Dropping an injured person doesn’t count as handling it,” his brother responded, plucking Bilbo off Kíli’s back with ease. Being treated like a potato sack almost made him want to insist that he could walk, but he knew that would only end in embarrassment. Even without putting weight on them, he knew his legs felt like jelly.

“This is my brother, Fíli,” Kíli offered, rolling his eyes. Now that he could see Kíli, Bilbo noted that he looked even taller than his brother, though his build was a little trimmer, and he only had stubble compared to his brother’s close beard. Both of them wore thick, heavy clothes that made Bilbo wonder what climate they were native to. Hobbiton very rarely got cold enough to justify clothes that thick, even in the winter.

“At your service,” Fíli said, dipping slightly in a careful bow so as not to unseat Bilbo.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours and your family’s,” Bilbo replied, remembering the proper words this time.

“Maybe we’ll take you up on that,” Kíli observed conversationally. “Our uncle’s a summoner, and he just dismissed most of his guardians. He could use another, when you’re feeling better.”

“Summoner? Guardians?” Bilbo was fairly certain he’d never heard those words before, or at least not spoken seriously. In stories, perhaps.

“Apprentice Summoner still, Kíli. You must have gotten a big dose of the toxin,” Fíli said, concern in his voice as he turned his attention to Bilbo.

“There was a lot in his hair,” Kíli agreed. “Well, there’s the camp. Why don’t we let Uncle explain?”

Fíli lowered Bilbo until he was sitting against a log in front of a roaring fire. He reached out an arm experimentally, and it didn’t immediately flop back down. Encouraged, he eagerly accepted the tin cup of water that Fíli handed him and drank greedily.

“Thank you,” he gasped when he had finished off the cup, the cold water rushing to his head. Fíli just nodded, and refilled the cup.

“Uncle, Bilbo doesn’t remember what summoners are!” Kíli said, prompting Bilbo to look over and see who he was addressing. His eyes met sharp blue ones, and he had to resist the urge to look away. Those eyes were assessing him, judging his worth, and looking away wouldn’t prevent that.

“And I suppose you didn’t think to explain,” he replied, looking back toward his nephew, revealing that he was the second speaker from when they’d found Bilbo on the beach. Thorin, Bilbo thought his name was.

“Well, you have to treat his wounds anyway,” Kíli mumbled, his eyes suddenly on Bilbo and not his uncle.

“I remember you saying they were not serious,” Thorin observed, but he was already rising, and crossing the campsite to kneel in front of Bilbo. Thorin was even taller than Kíli, with long dark hair that fell over his shoulders. His hair was a little wavy, but mostly straight. Bilbo was seized with the urge to touch it: he’d never seen such hair in the Shire. Hobbit hair was almost always curly. He was definitely far away from home.

Thorin brushed his fingers against a cut on Bilbo’s cheek, startling him. He reached up to touch the spot, and the cut was gone. He stared at Thorin in wonder, but oddly, the look in those blue eyes hardened.

“Summoners fight Sin,” Thorin said suddenly, inspecting the cuts and burns on Bilbo’s feet. “Using the power of the aeons, until we are strong enough to call the final aeon, and defeat Sin. They travel on pilgrimages to every temple, gathering new aeons. Guardians defend Summoners, so that they reach Zanarkand, where the final aeon lies.” He passed his hand over Bilbo’s burned feet, and he felt the pain lessen. Magic of some kind? Even though Gandalf was called a wizard, Bilbo had never seen anything like it before.

“And, what are aeons?” Bilbo prompted. Thorin gritted his teeth, and Bilbo could tell he was trying not to say, ‘they are what summoners summon.’

Instead, Thorin washed out a cut on Bilbo’s arm that was gritty with sand. “There are some who choose to offer up their souls to fight Sin,” he explained. “While still alive, they offer their souls to Yevon, and their souls are imprisoned in stone statues. There, they pray for Spira’s revival, and those prayers take shape, becoming an aeon.”

Bilbo had more questions, like what Yevon and Spira were, but he held his tongue. He got the impression that his gaps in knowledge were even greater than they normally expected from someone attacked by Sin. Instead, he looked across the fire, at Thorin’s other guardians. Fíli and Kíli he knew already, but there were two more, both veterans by the look of it. One looked friendly and had a long white beard, and the other was bald, heavily tattooed, and looked ready to fight the next thing that offended him. Under the circumstances, that could easily be Bilbo.

“Fíli said that you were an apprentice summoner,” Bilbo said instead, watching Thorin seal yet another cut. He hadn’t realized there’d been so many.

“I do not yet command any aeons,” Thorin replied in explanation, drawing back at last. “The first temple is but a few miles from here.”

Bilbo bit back a question about how they knew he could summon if he’d never done it. Thorin didn’t seem likely to take such a question well, and it was probably a rude question in any case.

“So,” Thorin continued, pinning Bilbo with his gaze. “Where do you come from?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” Bilbo pointed out, though he knew he was being rather rude under the circumstances. “I’ve never seen such tall folk before.”

That earned him some odd looks. “We’re dwarves,” Kíli supplied eventually, breaking the silence, though that hardly counted as an explanation. The name did sound somewhat familiar though, so he let it go.

“Well I am a hobbit of the Shire, as I tried to say earlier,” Bilbo replied, but the odd looks didn’t waver.

“There are no more hobbits,” the dwarf with the long white beard said, not unkindly. He was the third speaker, Bilbo realized. “The Shire was destroyed 500 years ago, and all of the hobbits with it. It’s called the Calm Lands now, and is uninhabited, like everything north of Macalania.” 

“Yet he is undeniably a hobbit,” Thorin said, still staring Bilbo down. “He matches the old descriptions.”

“Destroyed?” Bilbo choked out. That attack… had killed them all? And carried him through time? How was that even possible? Such things only ever happened in fairy stories. Surely he must be dreaming.

“What do you remember?” Thorin demanded impatiently, and for once, it was easy to obey, if only to try and remember some detail that would prove them wrong.

“It was just a normal day, and then Gandalf showed up, telling me I needed to go right away, and then fire was raining from the sky-”

“Gandalf?” Thorin interrupted, his eyebrows flying up. The other dwarves exchanged looks.

“Yes, he’s an old friend of the family,” Bilbo replied, a little irritated by the interruption. “Do you know him?”

“There are few who haven’t at least heard of him,” the kindly-looking dwarf commented. “Gandalf has been a Guardian to many summoners, including a High Summoner or two, though he refuses the usual title given to Guardians.”

Odd that he’d never thought to mention that.

“Bilbo should come with us, at least until we get to Luca,” Fíli suggested. “Maybe Gandalf will be there, or someone else you know.”

“Or he could stay with us until we get to the Calm Lands,” Kíli countered, and Bilbo remembered his comment about Thorin needing another guardian. “We’re going there anyway, and if that’s his home…”

“There is nothing there,” the dwarf with the long beard said, not unkindly. “Dwalin and I have both seen it. And as for Luca, that is Thorin’s decision.”

Thorin said nothing, staring silently at Bilbo. None of these place names sounded the least bit familiar, so he couldn’t say he had much of a preference. But he did want to see the land where his home had been, even if just to confirm that he’d fallen through time.

“We’re not near either of those places, are we?” he asked hesitantly, hoping this wasn’t crossing another invisible line.

Thorin’s expression didn’t change. “Luca is two temples away, and the Calm Lands lie near the end of the journey. It will be dangerous, but not much more dangerous than staying here and waiting for a fiend to kill you.”

Bilbo’s head whirled. It was too much to accept at once. His home was gone, he was in a world where it would be so easy to die, and he’d been found by someone who immediately suspected there was more to the story. And Gandalf was apparently famous. He’d been famous in the Shire, true, but for fireworks, not… well, he still didn’t properly know what Sin was. Not that he could ask without attracting more attention. He’d seen Sin, and that was enough.

He rubbed his temples, feeling his consciousness slipping. It was too much, but Thorin was still watching him, waiting for an answer, even though the decision was his to make. “I appreciate any help you’re willing to give me,” Bilbo said at last. 

“Try not to get in the way,” the tattooed dwarf said, his first utterance since Fíli set Bilbo near the fire.

“Really, brother,” the long-bearded dwarf scolded. “Helping those who have been attacked by Sin is everyone’s duty.”

“Defeating Sin is Thorin’s duty,” the tattooed dwarf pressed stubbornly, and said no more.

Thorin simply watched Bilbo with his piercing eyes, until Bilbo found that keeping his eyes open any longer was too much of a struggle, and fell asleep against the log. He didn’t know precisely where he was, he knew next to nothing about the people he was with, but his mind was overloaded, and his body was drained. As sleep claimed him, he hoped he wouldn’t dream of the Shire burning, and that wish was granted. Instead, he dreamed of piercing blue eyes belonging to someone who seemed to believe him even when no one else truly did. Even in dreams, Bilbo wondered if he was just imagining it.


	2. Besaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo learns a little more about fighting (and stealing), as well as few important bits of history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for you kind words, I hope this second chapter doesn't disappoint. I will say that the first handful of chapters follow the game pretty closely, though my own changes should be obvious. Things should start really changing once we get through Luca, because there will be less to explain to anyone new to X (like Bilbo). For now, enjoy the tropical elves of Besaid.

The following morning made Bilbo wonder if perhaps he’d been too hasty in considering Spira a death trap of a world. As the sun came up over the ocean, and light filtered through the trees, he realized that maybe ‘forest’ was a bad description. This place was tropical, so a more accurate word would be ‘jungle’. Not that he’d ever seen one, but he’d read about palm trees and other tropical plants. This definitely wasn’t one of the little forests back home. Even the bird calls sounded different, but that wasn’t a bad thing. This place was beautiful, in a foreign kind of way, and that wasn’t such an awful thing at the moment.

“No one mentioned it last night, but this is the island of Besaid,” the long-bearded dwarf offered, startling Bilbo. He was the first dwarf awake, judging by the even breathing of the others. “And I am Balin, by the way. You find yourself in the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, future High Summoner,” Balin said with an unmistakable air of pride.

“What is a High Summoner, anyway?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“A Summoner who has defeated Sin,” Balin supplied, without any of Thorin’s narrow-eyed suspicion.

“But you said last night that Gandalf had accompanied High Summoners,” Bilbo recalled. “How can that be, if Sin is still around?”

“Sin’s defeat is never permanent,” Balin explained wistfully. “Each time it is defeated, it takes a while to assume a new shape, and then it reveals itself. That time while it is reshaping is called the Calm. Summoners aim to bring the Calm.”

Bilbo scratched his head. “But if Sin always comes back-”

“Don’t say it,” Thorin said suddenly without rolling over to face them. Bilbo nearly leapt out of his skin. “Don’t say it isn’t worth it. A few years of stability, where children can grow up safely without losing their parents or siblings… that is what all Summoners desire. That is what we fight for.”

Bilbo had no idea what to say to that, and the walk up to the temple was more than a little awkward. Or at least he thought it was. There wasn’t much room for talking after their first ambush by fiends. He surprised himself by taking out a few without getting more than a handful of scrapes, though the dwarves were clearly much more competent. Their movements were swift and practiced, while he was a rank novice. How could Fíli and Kíli think that he could be a guardian with this level of skill? He could barely protect himself, let alone someone else.

“The people who live here are mostly elves,” Fíli explained conversationally between fights.

“If you think we’re tall, wait until you see them!” Kíli laughed, quieting when Thorin gave him a sharp look.

“Stay focused until we reach the village,” he cautioned, and conversation ceased again.

Thankfully, Bilbo didn’t really need more clarification. Some of his father’s books had mentioned elves, so he was at least familiar with the concept. Though he couldn’t remember anything about them living on tropical islands, but he was getting used to gaps in his knowledge. At least that was a small one in comparison.

Still, when he wasn’t fearing for his life, this island was a nice enough place. A little warm for his comfort, but the air was scented with flowers, and the ground was soft and comfortable beneath his feet. It wasn’t the Shire, but it seemed like a peaceful enough place. If the Shire really was gone, as they claimed, maybe Besaid wouldn’t be a bad place to make a new start.

He wondered how the dwarves weren’t dying of heat stroke in all of their layers, though. Practicality had won out over gentility in his case, and his jacket and waistcoat had both ended up stuffed in his pack. The thin shirt underneath was as cool as he was going to get, and it still clung to his sweaty back. With all of their fur, the dwarves all should have passed out. But they were apparently made of sterner stuff, and he doubted Thorin would have appreciated his nephews complaining.

They were near the summit, Bilbo eager to reach the village, when he was forced to revise his opinion. Suddenly Dwalin led them onto a side path that terminated in a flowing river. At first he wondered if they were lost, since the path had been pretty clear up until then, but then Fíli and Kíli started unstrapping their weapons. Without warning, they stripped down to nothing, and leapt into the river with raucous whoops. 

Bilbo glanced at the older dwarves, expecting stern expressions, but they were removing their outer layers too, albeit more slowly. Hobbits weren’t exactly shy about their bodies- everyone had the same bits and bobs after all- but gentlehobbits didn’t just strip and jump willy nilly into rivers! Especially given how poor swimmers hobbits were in general, though of course they was also his reputation to consider. Which of course was nonexistent here.

“Better get in lad,” Balin advised from the water, snapping Bilbo out of his self-conscious reverie. “We’re going to a temple after all, think of this as a ritual purification.”

Fíli and Kíli’s splashing and frolicking didn’t seem much like ritual purification, but maybe that was just the excuse they used. Shrugging in acceptance, he shed his last few layers and stepped in a bit more delicately, sticking to the shallows. The clear water meant that it was easy to see where the drop offs were, but it also meant that he saw far more of his new companions than he was probably ready for. What must beings made of so much muscle think of someone as soft and round as he?

He caught Thorin staring and thought it probably wasn’t complimentary.

Bilbo did feel a little cooler, and much less sweaty when they reached Besaid Village, though his clothes really weren’t made for this climate. He hoped not all of the temples were in such extreme climates, before getting his first look at the elves, and forgetting about all that.

The elves were tall and graceful, with warm brown skin and distant eyes. Bilbo wondered how he could have thought the dwarves tall: they were positively reasonably sized in comparison. The dwarves seemed to feel it too, judging by the way they tilted their chins and puffed out their chests, trying to feel a little less insignificant.

“Summoner Thorin,” an elf with intricately arranged black hair said, dropping into a strange bow. The other elves all turned and did the same. Thorin and the other dwarves returned the gesture, forcing Bilbo to imitate them and hope he didn’t stand out too much. “I am Elrond, head of this village. We are pleased to see that you have arrived safely, as the fiends have been growing bold of late. Would you face the cloister first, or take some refreshment?”

“The cloister,” Thorin answered shortly. “Although-” he glanced over at Bilbo. “One of my companions is not yet a Guardian, and cannot enter the cloister.”

Elrond seemed to catch some meaning that Bilbo missed. “Our Crusaders would be happy to train him while you face the trials.”

“He recently faced Sin, and so has forgotten things that he should know,” Thorin continued with another quick look at Bilbo.

Elrond nodded in understanding. “They will be careful, and remind him of the Prayer,” he assured Thorin with another one of those strange bows, and then the dwarves were walking off toward the large stone building, leaving Bilbo with Elrond, who was clearly studying him.

“What are the Crusaders?” Bilbo asked to break the awkward silence, shuffling back and forth on his feet in discomfort. Thankfully, Elrond didn’t seem as bothered by his ignorance as Thorin.

“It would be better if they explained it to you,” Elrond replied without answering the question. “It is a shame that you aren’t a full Guardian yet. Only Summoners and Guardians may enter the cloister of trials to earn the right to address the fayth, so it is only they who hear their hymn up close.”

“Is it very beautiful?” Bilbo asked curiously, following Elrond as he led him toward a large tent. “This hymn?”

“It can be very moving,” Elrond said, opening the tent flap. “But then, I may be biased about this fayth. Before she gave her soul to Yevon, she was my mother.” He turned away from Bilbo, looking into the tent. “Elladan, Elrohir, you have a guest.”

A pair of identical dark-haired elves snapped to attention. They looked younger than Elrond, though they shared his coloring closely. His sons, Bilbo guessed, as they strode forward in unison and looked him over.

“He came in with the Summoner,” Elrond told them, a note of amusement in his voice. “It seems he is destined to be a Guardian, but needs further training before they make it official.”

“Leave it to us!” they declared, each of them clapping a hand on Bilbo’s shoulders.

“Summoners can address the fayth for whole days sometimes,” one of them informed him.

“We should be able to do something in that time,” the other agreed with a nod.

“He has been affected by Sin’s toxin, so he may have questions,” Elrond added, halfway out of the tent already. “Remind him of how to do the Prayer. He looked unsteady.”

“We’ll take care of it,” the first one decided, sitting down on one of the beds and patting it to indicate that Bilbo should join him. “The Crusaders, like Summoners, fight Sin.”

“Except, we believe that Sin can be defeated with conventional weapons and magic. We reject the necessity of the final aeon, and put our all into planning operations to fight Sin on the most advantageous terms possible,” the other explained, and Bilbo found that he was nodding along. That seemed simple enough.

“Technically the Crusaders are an arm of Yevon, but we occasionally do things they don’t like, such as using advanced dwarven weapons, and they look the other way,” the first one concluded.

Bilbo put aside the ‘what is Yevon’ question for now. It was clear that even with Sin’s toxin affecting him, that would be a strange question. “Why don’t they like the use of advanced dwarven weapons?” Bilbo asked.

“It’s forbidden,” they said, shrugging in unison, which really wasn’t an answer.

“The dwarves have been hit really hard by Sin and Sinspawn, and the old kingdoms that relied on their smithing knowledge are all gone. Yevon uses that as proof that Sin is our punishment for corrupting nature and making such things,” the first one explained.

“They say Sin will finally go away when everyone has atoned for their sins, but even if that was true, something like that will never happen,” the second one said with a grin. “So, I’m Elrohir, that’s Elladan, and we’re going to train you so that you can protect your summoner.”

He hadn’t really agreed to be a guardian, but he couldn’t object to being better able to defend himself, so Bilbo didn’t protest. Considering the difference in height and proportions, Elladan and Elrohir were capable instructors, but apparently the Crusaders took all kinds, so they had taught all kinds. In just a few hours, they had taken the measure of his skill, given him some practice exercises to improve weak areas, and suggested specific fighting styles. They had also taught him how to do that strange bow, which was apparently what Elrond meant by ‘the prayer.’

“You’re small and fast, which considering that your Summoner is a dwarf, is no bad thing,” Elladan commented. “It’s something your group was probably missing: the ability to react to a situation quickly.”

“We should teach him to steal,” Elrohir suggested. “Fiends often drop useful items, and you’re probably the only one in your group fast enough to get anything without getting mauled.”

That turned out to be true, though not without a few burned and pricked fingers until he got the hang of it. For a days work, it wasn’t bad, and he ate the dinner they provided with relish. What would his parents say if they knew he was suddenly stealing from fiends?

Still, he wondered about Thorin. Could it really take days in there? Had they brought enough food? Were there fiends in the temple? Until he’d met Elladan and Elrohir, Thorin and his Company had been the only people he’d known in this world, and he wondered if he would even see them again. If they didn’t come back out of the temple, did he have the nerve to try and go to the Calm Lands himself, without a map or guide, without money or real fighting skill?

“It hasn’t been that long,” Elladan assured him. “If this is his first aeon, he doesn’t exactly know what to do yet, and has to figure out what the fayth needs to hear. She’s a good first aeon though, because grandmother isn’t too hard to please. She’ll want to feel his conviction, and that’s easy for most summoners.”

His worries assuaged for the moment, Bilbo fell asleep in the tent easily, practically swallowed by the too-big bed. Besaid might be a simple place, but at least they understood comfortable beds. Of course, if he was going to be this exhausted every night, maybe the ground would feel comfortable eventually. He pushed those thoughts aside. First he had to find Gandalf, then a way home.

In the morning, Bilbo rolled out of the bed, noticing that the tent was empty and his stomach was growling fiercely. Approaching the tent flap, he heard snatches of conversation, and something about the tone made him flatten against the wall to listen.

“It’s been most of a day and a whole night already,” Elladan was saying, reminding Bilbo of when his mother had disappeared. To miss seven whole meals had never been like her.

“We cannot interfere,” Elrond replied firmly. “Only a summoner and their guardians-”

“You were a summoner once!” Elrohir interrupted. “It can’t be forbidden for you to go check.”

“If he fails here, he cannot handle Sin, let alone any of the other fayth,” Elrond said sharply. “There would be no point. I know you’re worried for Bilbo, but this is a guardian’s first test: having faith in their summoner.”

Bilbo listened in silence. It was true that he barely knew Thorin, and that he really hadn’t committed to being a Guardian, but if they were worried, shouldn’t he be too? If something happened to Thorin, what would become of him? He had no idea where he was, besides the name of the place, and no money to get anywhere else. In a less accepting group, his lack of knowledge could get him into serious trouble. The way Thorin watched him when he asked questions that would be common knowledge to anyone born here told him that Sin’s toxin wouldn’t be a workable excuse everywhere.

Elladan and Elrohir weren’t over that conversation when they returned to the tent, sporting matching expressions of displeasure.

“He never acknowledges that point,” Elladan muttered. “He could check on any summoner, and even bring others with him as his guardians just to make sure.”

“He thinks he forfeited those rights when he gave up his pilgrimage,” Elrohir replied with a shrug. “That’s why we live out here, away from everyone and everything that’s important, watching over grandmother’s temple. As if she needed watching over.”

“People have stolen Fayth before,” Elladan reminded him wryly. “They don’t have the power to protect themselves, after all.”

“Well, no point in dwelling on it,” Elrohir muttered. “Where’s Bilbo?”

During their argument, Bilbo had slipped past them, and was making for the temple. He didn’t know what he would do when he got there, but something told him that was where he should be.

Entering the temple, he felt less certain. It was poorly lit, with a musty smell, and strange statues towered over him. The statues featured Elves and Dwarves, some Men, but not a single hobbit stood among them. Whatever they were supposed to be honoring, the omission seemed rather rude.

“You look upon the High Summoners,” Elrond told him, appearing suddenly at Bilbo’s side. “The last to face Sin at full strength,” he indicated a tall, noble-looking elf, “was High Summoner Gil-Galad, whose victory permanently weakened Sin. That was nearly three thousand years ago.”

Bilbo started. “So long ago!”

“Yes,” Elrond agreed. “Together with Elendil, and his son Isildur, kings of realms long since destroyed, they defeated Sin so thoroughly that it is still recovering. It has been defeated and reformed several times since then, but never with the same deadly strength that slew thousands before.”

Remembering his own encounter with Sin, Bilbo shuddered. “It seemed plenty strong to me.”

“Yes, I suppose the hobbits have reason to think so,” Elrond said, softening a little. “It was seven years ago that I last saw one of your kind, but our village is remote. Perhaps there are more out there, in hiding from Sin.”

Bilbo nodded, but couldn’t think of anything to say. His throat was tight, and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he looked up at one of the other statues. This one was a dwarf who looked remarkably like Thorin. There were several like that, now that he looked more carefully.

“Summoner Thorin comes from a long line of summoners,” Elrond told him, following his gaze. “Kings and summoners,” he amended. “Each is a heavy burden to carry, though the title of King means less than it once did.”

Thorin was a king? Bilbo nearly shouted the discovery, just barely managing to keep the exclamation internal. Perhaps he hadn’t fallen through time after all. Maybe this was just a dream, because how much more absurd could his situation get? Kings, really. He only knew of kings from storybooks. Why had none of the dwarves mentioned Thorin’s status, only saying that he was a summoner? Was being a summoner more important? Or was Thorin being a king a secret, to prevent kidnappings or other royal intrigue?

Bilbo shook his head. No, better not to let his imagination run away with him. Elrond obviously knew who Thorin was, and so must many other people. It was probably just him left in ignorance, because it was obvious to everyone else. He would ask about it once they were back on the road. If Thorin made it out of the cloister.

He turned toward the raised door, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Thorin was walking out, though he leaned heavily on Dwalin. Everyone else looked fine, so it must have been because of the Fayth. Wasn’t she supposed to be an easy one? Clearly not.

Thorin pinned him with his gaze, his eyes still sharp despite his clear exhaustion. “We’re leaving,” he said with clear effort. “Today’s ship to Kilika should not have left yet.”

Nevermind that Bilbo had no idea where this ‘Kilika’ was. He still knew they weren’t going to make it, not with Thorin in the state he was in. But with those stubborn eyes glaring at him, he didn’t feel like arguing.

Despite Thorin’s orders, they camped on the beach that night, Thorin passing out almost the moment his head hit the ground.


	3. Kilika

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's coming out a little later than I had planned, but updates are probably going to be slower for this fic than they have been for my others. Just warning you now! Also if you want a laugh, watch the Sending scene on youtube and imagine Thorin doing that instead of what I changed it to.

Bilbo did not like ships.

True, the vessel conveying them to Kilika was far larger than anything he'd seen or been on in the Shire, but then so was the body of water. The ocean, he reminded himself, his stomach roiling in objection. The little ponds and rivers of the Shire were nothing to this. He felt sick just looking over the side and seeing no land.

Fíli and Kíli had tried to comfort him, but they were too excited to be much use to an invalid. He sent them on their way, a little more grumpily than usual to ensure that they really went, and didn’t try to come back. Then he lay down on the deck, so that all he could really see was the sky. The sight calmed him down a little. The deck might be rocking, but the sky was as steady as always.

“I see you are more sensible than the lads,” Balin observed lightly, sitting down beside him. “We dwarves are not overfond of sea voyages either, though somehow those two can bear it. Perhaps that's what happens when young dwarves are raised outside of the mountains.”

“What happened?” Bilbo asked, trying and failing to sit up. He settled for lying on his side so that he was at least facing Balin. “Sin?”

Balin nodded. “It destroyed our home, and took up residence there. We've been on the move ever since, though stable colonies of our people have been set up in various places. It helps that Sin has been fairly quiet since taking over our home. That gives everyone else time to rebuild and fortify.”

Bilbo digested this new information. That must have been what Elrond meant about Thorin's burdens. If so, he now understood that quiet intensity that unnerved him whenever Thorin caught his eye. This fight was very personal for him, and it had been driving him for a long, long time.

“Thank you for telling me,” Bilbo said finally, though Balin waved dismissively.

“I'm sure Thorin would have mentioned it eventually. He just doesn't like bringing it up. He thinks it looks like asking for sympathy, or worse, pity,” Balin explained wryly.

“My home was destroyed too, if what you say is true,” Bilbo pointed out. “I think I sort of understand.” Though, he didn't really believe the Shire was gone. Elrond was right, he was sure of it.

Balin gave him a long look. “Perhaps you do,” he allowed, and then silence fell.

He must have nodded off, because when Bilbo opened his eyes, the sun was setting, and his skin felt warm and gritty from lying in the sun for too long. He sat up painfully, wincing as the burned skin on his joints stretched.

Bilbo glanced around. Dwalin was sitting under an awning, sharpening his axes and chatting with Balin. Fíli and Kíli were nowhere to be seen, but he didn't doubt they were up to something somewhere. As for Thorin, he was sitting near the bow of the ship, his long hair streaming behind him as he stared off into the distance. Some of the other passengers were watching him, and Bilbo heard faint snatches of conversation, about summoners whose names were unfamiliar to him. He shrugged. They must know who Thorin was, but he didn't exactly give off an approachable atmosphere.

Why he found himself walking toward Thorin regardless of that, he had no idea. Maybe because he seemed strangely lonely, a dwarf at sea where no dwarves should be. Thorin didn't acknowledge his presence as Bilbo came and sat down next to him, but he didn't get up or tell him to leave either. It was progress, Bilbo told himself. He had little more than those stares to go on, after all.

“Your aeon can fly, right?” Bilbo asked, looking toward the horizon instead of at Thorin. “Would it be faster to fly it there than to go by ship?”

Thorin actually snorted. “She might have trouble carrying the six of us,” he replied, the corners of his eyes softening. “And aeons are fueled by the summoner's energy. As a beginner, my reserves are small.” He noticed Bilbo's look of surprise then, and frowned.

“What?”

“You didn't like answering my questions before,” Bilbo said, the tips of his ears reddening.

Thorin looked away, still frowning. “Fíli and Kíli may not know this, but Sin's toxin could not make you forget what we consider to be the basic facts of life,” he explained. “You might forget your own name, or where you were from, but you knew those things.”

“So, you thought I was lying?” Bilbo asked, those sharp looks suddenly making sense. “But you don't anymore.”

“You don't look like a very good liar,” Thorin told him bluntly. “And I met another hobbit once.”

“Do you remember what their name was?” Bilbo demanded eagerly, unconsciously leaning forward.

“Belladonna, I think,” Thorin said thoughtfully. “She had a similar story.”

Bilbo's heart hammered in his chest. Gandalf was going to have some explaining to do whenever he finally found the dratted wizard.

“You knew her,” Thorin observed, watching his expression carefully.

“She was my mother,” he said, turning away at last.

“I'm sorry,” Thorin said, and it sounded like he meant it. “You look like someone who has known little of pain, but I see that I was wrong. You are more like us than I assumed.”

Why did it seem like there was more to those words than what Thorin was saying?

* * *

 

Fire and smoke greeted them in Kilika. What had once been a village sitting above the water was now a mass of splintered boards, burning trees, and hastily covered corpses. Nausea rose in the back of his throat, but Bilbo forced it down, keeping his eyes trained on the wreckage. He felt like he owed the dead his attention, as much as it pained him to give it.

“This is what Sin does, whenever it deigns to leave the mountain,” Dwalin said grimly. “We're lucky it passed the ship.”

Thorin's hands were clenched into fists. “I could have fought it off, sent it in a different direction,” he argued, his jaw set in a firm line.

“No, you couldn't,” Balin disagreed sadly. “Only the final aeon has a chance against Sin. There's nothing you could have done.”

“Uncle, can we help them?” Fíli asked hesitantly. “While you do the sending? There are still people trapped under fallen roofs and trees.”

Bilbo wondered at the priorities of these people, gathering the dead, but leaving some of the living still trapped.They could die there too because of the carelessness of the other villagers.

“Go,” Thorin said without hesitation.

“Some of our kin live near here,” Balin told Bilbo. “The fayth enshrined in this temple is one of our ancestors. Dwarves don't much care for living above water like this, but they couldn't leave that fayth to just the Men’s care. Thankfully, most of them live closer to the temple, in those woods there, so they weren’t as affected.”

Bilbo nodded in understanding. “What's a sending?”

Balin shook his head sadly. “Ah, laddie, would that you didn't need to know. The dead, especially those who die violently because of Sin, don't go quietly. If left alone, they become fiends. Summoners perform sendings to guide them to the Farplane, where they rest.”

Another wave of nausea struck him then. How could they fight fiends, knowing that they were just the restless dead? But then, Thorin was doing his best to prevent that, he reminded himself. They only fought fiends to avoid being killed and becoming fiends themselves.

Thorin had removed his boots, and was somehow walking on the water. Beneath him floated the coffins of the dead, decorated in bright flowers. He stood there for a moment, staring at something no one else could see, and then he started to sing. His voice was low and rich, full of a deep longing that sent shivers down Bilbo's spine. If there were words to this song, he wasn't aware of them, swept along as he was by the haunting melody. As Thorin sang, strange translucent balls of light rose from the coffins, adding their own sad cries to his song. Bilbo doubted he'd ever forget that moment, watching Thorin sing surrounded by glowing light and standing on top of coffins. His own soul tugged at the bonds of his flesh, longing for the release that Thorin offered.

Perhaps that was why he was crying.

Not that he was the only one. Mourners, those who had actually known the deceased, fell to their knees and sobbed as the orbs rose into the air. Were those orbs their souls, Bilbo wondered?

Balin seemed to anticipate the question, explaining quietly, “Those lights you see are pyreflies. No one truly knows what they are, except that they are drawn to the dead, and respond to memories.”

Bilbo wondered what it felt like to have the pyreflies surround and cling to you, like they were to Thorin as he sang to soothe the dead. Could he feel their sorrow? Was that yet another burden a summoner had to bear?

“Thank you, Lord Summoner,” one of the villagers was saying as Thorin stepped back onto the dock. “Your timely appearance saved our loved ones.”

“I only wish that I had arrived sooner, to save them from this,” Thorin replied grimly, and they left the village to the mixed cries of fervent thanks and unabated sobbing. Bilbo remembered Thorin’s words on the beach in Besaid, about how defeating Sin was worth it, even if it was only temporary. The destruction in Kilika made him think he understood now, if only a little.

“We could have stayed the night,” Kíli pointed out as they entered the forest. “They were grateful enough to put us up.”

“Fewer than half of the villagers still had roofs to put over their heads,” Thorin replied sharply. “How could I do otherwise in good conscience?”

Kíli bowed his head, staring at the forest floor looking thoroughly chastened, but his brother wasn’t done.

“We could have stayed,” Fíli argued. “Helped fix their houses.”

“The pilgrimage takes priority, and everyone knows that,” Dwalin replied in a tone that left no room for argument. It seemed a little heartless, but then in a world like this, maybe it was common sense that summoners would focus single-mindedly on their pilgrimage, even when people they could help were right in front of them. If Sin was defeated, people could rebuild without fearing another loss, at least for a time.

He didn’t have to like it. His hands clenched unconsciously into fists, and he noticed Thorin doing the same. Maybe, when he had earned more trust, they wouldn’t have to walk away like this again. Maybe he could add his voice to the ones asking for permission to stay and help. For now, he was still an intruder.

Kilika had a different feeling from Besaid. Here, the jungle pressed close, allowing no stray tropical breezes to disrupt the oppressive heat. The fiends they encountered breathed fire more often than not, and Balin explained that it was the influence of the Fayth.

“If an aeon leans toward a particular element, it may influence the environment,” he said, smiling as if he rarely got to address such an attentive pupil. “The Fayth in Kilika temple favors fire.”

Bilbo was just hoping they wouldn’t be staying there for long when dwarves started emerging from the brush. They were different from Thorin’s group, clad less in heavy furs and more in animal skins, their clothing lighter and more suited to the climate. They adorned their hair and beards in much the same ways, though their decorations were a little rougher looking. In the distance he saw the ground rise to a higher elevation, and wondered if they lived inside that.

“We heard a commotion,” one of them said, addressing Thorin.

“Sin,” he told them grimly. “It was wise to stay hidden, but they need your skills in the village now.”

The dwarves trooped off in an orderly formation, and the knot in Bilbo’s chest loosened a little. They could do much more good than their little group. “They live in the jungle here?” Bilbo asked curiously as they set off again.

“Under the temple, which is atop that hill,” Thorin said, surprising Bilbo. He expected Balin to step in and explain. “They offer their crafting skills to the Men, in exchange for food. Otherwise, they stay hidden. We are not overfond of journeying outside our homes.”

“On that point, I believe we are in agreement,” Bilbo observed as a giant insect buzzed past his face.

When they reached the temple, worshippers were streaming out in droves, while armed men dashed up the stairs urgently. Cracks and bangs sounded distantly, as well as the occasional human scream.

“Sinspawn,” Dwalin guessed grimly.

“Fiends that fall from Sin’s body when it appears,” Fíli explained immediately, picking up his pace on the stairs. “Sin always comes back for them, so it’s important to kill them while you have the chance.”

Bilbo had never seen such a grotesque fiend, though he had to admit his experience was limited. One crack of its whiplike fingers against the stone shattered it, and then the fear hit him. He took several deep calming breaths, to no avail.

“We have to fight that?” He wasn’t even sure how they were going to get close to it.

“Stay in the back,” Thorin ordered, as the dwarves formed up to fight the sinspawn. “You might not get off with nothing more than a few scrapes otherwise.”

“But-”

“Don’t worry, laddie,” Balin assured him with a wink. “We’ve fought our share of sinspawn before. You’ll get the idea as you watch us.”

“A beginner would only get in the way,” Dwalin said, and then there was little time for talking.

The dwarves did seem to know what they were doing. True, he’d seen them fight fiends before, but those battles had been casual by comparison. There was a level of organization here that hadn’t been present before, each dwarf having a specific task when it came to disabling the fiend. Kíli had coated his arrow tips in something, pitch Bilbo guessed, and was lighting them on fire before launching them at the fiends body. Meanwhile, Balin and Dwalin hacked at those surprisingly powerful arms, while Thorin seemed to be concentrating on something. Fíli protected him, and Bilbo tried to do the same without getting in anyone’s way.

“Form up!” Thorin shouted suddenly, his eyes open and blazing with light.

The distant dwarves made a hasty retreat, back to the center of the formation, and then the sky opened up, revealing something gold and shimmery descending from the sky with frightening speed. It sped toward them like an arrow loosed from Kíli’s bow, and as it approached, Bilbo realized that this must be an Aeon. When it landed, going straight to Thorin, he stroked its feathery neck gently and whispered something to it. The Aeon handled the sinspawn from there, nimbly dodging those perilous fingers and the acid it sprayed from its mouth.

So this was the power that could defeat Sin, Bilbo realized as he watched the Aeon tear at the sinspawn with practiced ease. No wonder everyone made such a big deal about protecting the fayth, when they granted this much power. It wasn’t without a cost though, he remembered looking at Thorin. The Aeon drew on his strength to take a corporeal form. No wonder he needed to collect so many aeons: he needed the endurance training in order to summon the final aeon. And judging by the way he leaned on Fíli, this was also why Summoners needed Guardians.

Once the Sinspawn was defeated, dissolving in a wave of pyreflies, the temple priests suddenly appeared, clearing away the dead and injured with ruthless precision. A small group of them detached from the main force to escort them to the temple proper, but Bilbo was a little disturbed by how used to this they all were.

“Do attacks like this happen often?” he asked when he thought the priests were out of earshot.

“Sinspawn yes, Sin no,” Balin explained. “Sin itself hasn’t been seen much since it attacked our home, but it does go out occasionally, bringing Sinspawn with it.”

“Even if it doesn’t attack the first time, it will if it has to come back for the spawn,” Fíli added.

By then they had almost reached the entrance to the cloister, when a tall, blond elf emerged from the cloister, another elf behind him. His eyes swept over the group coolly, as if he could see their innermost selves, and found them wanting. The priests all gave that strange bow as he descended the steps, though the dwarves did not. Instead, when the elf reached the bottom of the stairs, he and Thorin exchanged a slightly different version of the bow. A greeting between equals?

“Summoner Thorin,” the elf said, his cool eyes sweeping over them all again. “Of Durin’s line of summoners.”

“I have that honor,” Thorin agreed. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “You must be Summoner Thranduil of Mirkwood.”

A vein pulsed in Thranduil’s neck. “We prefer the name Guadosalam for our home,” he said tightly, sparing another disapproving look for the guardians. “Are all of these men your guardians?”

Bilbo expected a denial. He wasn’t a guardian yet, and it was obvious just by looking at him. Thorin surprised him by nodding. “They are.”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow. “Even the High Summoners of your line only had two or three guardians each,” he observed, disdain dripping from his tone. “I have need of only one guardian, my son Legolas.” He gestured to the elf behind him, who shot them an apologetic look.

Something flashed in Thorin’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Bilbo wondered if he’d just imagined it. When Thorin replied, his tone was measured, despite his blazing eyes. “I only have as many guardians as people I can trust,” he told Thranduil firmly. “There were more who answered my call, but I sent them away. To have so many willing to aid me is an honor.” He strode off toward the entrance to the cloister without another word.

Bilbo doubted he would forget the face Summoner Thranduil made any time soon.


	4. Blitzoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the chapter is Thorin's POV, but it switches to Bilbo after that. Thanks for reading, and for your kind words!

They left Bilbo right before the lift. Having said in front of all the priests that he was a guardian, Thorin knew he couldn’t just send Bilbo back outside to wait, but neither could Bilbo go any deeper with them. The punishment for breaking that taboo was excommunication, and while Thorin thought little of such a punishment, it would be within the rights of the Yevon clergy to bar him access to the remaining temples. His pilgrimage would be dead in the water then, and that was unacceptable.

“It won’t take all day this time,” he assured Bilbo once Balin had explained that he needed to stay behind.

“What do I say if someone finds me here?” Bilbo asked, shifting back and forth on his feet. “I imagine that telling them I’m not a guardian would be a problem.”

“Tell them Thorin likes having someone watch the exit,” Dwalin supplied, grinning. “Some summoners are a bit too competitive.” As if it was a race. Given time, all of them could easily have their chance at Sin.

Bilbo nodded, though the confusion didn’t leave his eyes. It never did. That was what made Thorin want to believe Bilbo, despite how ridiculous he sounded. He truly looked like someone who was being forced to learn the simple facts of life for the very first time. That wasn’t something you could fake.

As they descended, he let his mind wander as the heat permeated his thick layers of clothing. The influence of the fayth was strong here, much stronger than in the jungle. The true trial here was not the puzzle, but making it to the fayth without succumbing to dehydration. The story passed down from his grandfather said that summoners were forced to feel the heat of the sinspawn that seared off Durin V’s skin as they fought, before he decided that his best chance of defeating it was to become a fayth. To gain his power, it was necessary to understand his suffering. That was why he knew the trial would take less time than the previous one: if it didn’t, they were in serious danger from the heat.

“It’s a good thing Bilbo’s not a guardian yet,” Kíli panted, tugging on the front of his shirt. “He couldn’t take this much heat.”

“If we linger, our innate resistance will matter little,” Thorin said, stepping off the lift. He strode purposefully forward, across the stone bride, to examine the spheres set into the wall. He grimaced at the heat pouring off the sphere. So, part of the challenge was being unable to hold one for long. He fished his smithing gloves out of his pack and tried again. Still warm to the touch, but no longer scalding.

Satisfied that he could safely handle the spheres, Thorin pressed forward into the cloister. The puzzles were simple enough, even with Fíli and Kíli messing with the spheres, and before long he heard it: the deep strains of Durin V’s Hymn of the Fayth. It resonated with his very bones, calling on his summoner’s soul to do its’ duty. The song filled his ears, drowning out any other sound, guiding him to the chamber of the fayth without a word to his guardians. They understood, he thought absently. This was not just any fayth.

He was waiting when Thorin entered, a ghostly figure hovering above the grotesque statue set into the floor. Thorin repressed a shudder. It was true that his people believed that when they died, dwarves returned to the stone, but not like this. Never like this, trapped and watching, unable to do anything else.

The heat, already hotter than a forge, swirled around him with new intensity as the fayth watched him, the features familiar but unreadable. How many times had he seen the statues of the Durins? Yet it was different to look at the last of them from the center of whirling flames. Still, there was a task to be done. Thorin performed the prayer and bowed his head, waiting.

“Thorin, son of Thrain,” the fayth boomed. His voice echoed in Thorin’s bones as the song had done, compelling him to listen. “Why do you deserve my power?”

Thorin’s head snapped up. “Because without it, I cannot defeat Sin.” It was a ritual interaction, the same every time. Once the ritual part was over, the fayth might have a few questions of their own. Elwing, who was the fayth for Valefor, had an extensive list. It was a test not only of the summoner’s motives, but also their stamina. The fayth drew on the summoner’s power to materialize, and so the longer the questioning, the more energy they would drain.

“Why would you defeat Sin?” the fayth continued. “It is not a task to be taken lightly, nor is it for the weak of mind, heart, or body.”

“While Sin exists, there can be no peace,” Thorin answered. “I wish to bring the Calm, and let peace return.”

“I will add my prayers to the ones you have already received,” the fayth said with an air of formality, and then it was done. Power surged through him, his veins burning as if they held liquid fire. “There is some of me in you, I can see it. I hope you succeed where I failed, Thorin son of Thrain.”

The fayth faded from view, leaving Thorin cold and confused. He had expected his ancestor to have more than the ritual questions for him, maybe even try to stop his pilgrimage. But then, why should he complain? It had been so much easier this way, and maybe that was all the favoritism he could expect from Durin V. He left the chamber pondering the fayth’s words, ‘there is some of me in you.’

“He doesn’t need to question you,” Balin answered when he relayed what the fayth had said. “He knows your motives and your resolve, and he just about said so at the end, didn’t he?”

There was nothing Thorin could say to that, at least without starting an argument (as he didn’t completely agree), so the return trip through the cloister was quiet, Fíli and Kíli not even daring to break the thoughtful silence. Bilbo was waiting dutifully by the lift, writing something in a journal Thorin hadn’t known he’d had. When he noticed them, Bilbo shoved the journal into his pack hurriedly. Was he afraid they’d leave him behind?

Thorin paused. What must it be like to wake up and be told that everything and everyone you’ve ever known is long gone? It could happen to any of them, as long as Sin survived. One day you were safe in bed, and the next you woke to find that while you were on the sea, or in Luca, or anywhere other than home, home had been utterly destroyed.

“Thorin,” Dwalin said, breaking into his thoughts. “The ship.”

“If we hurry, we can still catch today’s ferry to Luca,” Balin added.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” he replied, and they plunged back into the jungle.

 

* * *

 

“What if I don’t know anyone in Luca?” Bilbo asked, voicing the thought that had been sitting at the back of his mind ever since they decided what to do with him. The deck of the ferry swayed underneath him, but it wasn’t so bad sitting down.

“You know Gandalf,” Thorin reminded him, running a whetstone along the blade of his sword. “He may be there.”

“But what if he isn’t? He was right next to me when Sin came, but he wasn’t on the beach,” Bilbo argued, chewing on his lower lip. He’d had this same conversation with all of the dwarves (except Dwalin, who he still didn’t dare bother), and none of them had anything helpful to say. So he’d turned to Thorin, in the hope that the sharp-eyed dwarf would at least refrain from offering platitudes.

“Then he’s probably looking for you. Anyone looking for anyone goes to Luca. It is the second largest city, and more central than the largest one.” Thorin said it with such self-assurance that Bilbo couldn’t help but believe him. Still, he wished Thorin had answered the question he had actually asked.

Thorin was staring at him again. Bilbo flushed. “What is it?”

“We won’t leave you there if you don’t find him,” he said, sounding a little hurt, though maybe Bilbo just imagined that. “As long as you make yourself useful, you have a place in my company.”

He’d remember those words for a long time. Not just the words, but the way Thorin had said them, his voice rough with emotion. For just a moment, the inscrutable summoner dropped away, and Bilbo saw the dwarf underneath. Thorin’s people had been made homeless by Sin, he remembered. What had happened after that? Had Thorin been forced to pay his way across Spira with what skills he had?

He could almost laugh. He had no idea. A few sad words, and a snort. That was all of the real Thorin he could claim to have seen so far. It wasn’t much, but it was something real, in a world that he still wasn’t fully convinced wasn’t a dream.

Still tired from the unusual amount of exercise and nauseous from the rocking of the ferry, Bilbo retired to the cabin not long after that. Without looking back, he felt Thorin’s eyes burning the back of his neck with that stare. What was he trying so hard to see? He lay awake in the cabin for a long time, wondering.

* * *

 

“Frerin did not travel through time,” Dwalin's harsh voice was saying as Bilbo stepped into the cool night air. “Sin crushed him, and left him broken on the Djose shore.”

“Then explain-” Thorin began hotly, but Dwalin interrupted him.

“I would never question you in front of the others, but I know what you're thinking when you talk to him. What you are hoping for did not happen,” Dwalin said firmly, his boots echoing on the balcony steps, forcing Bilbo to retreat. Not that he'd been intentionally eavesdropping, but even the nosiest hobbit knew that had been a very private conversation.

Night had fallen, and though Bilbo eventually conked out, his sleep had been disrupted by dreams of his mother. Finally giving up, he'd rolled out of bed, only to discover that he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. Fíli and Kíli lay side by side, snoring peacefully, and Balin lay facing the wall, but their cabin was short two dwarves. Taking that as a sign that he wouldn't get in trouble for wandering the ship at night, Bilbo had stepped outside, and heard Thorin and Dwalin's argument.

Now there was no way he was going to fall asleep.

Who was Frerin? And what did he have to do with Bilbo?

He shook his head to clear it, making for the bow of the ferry as quickly as he could without tripping. For now, it was none of his business, and he really didn’t want Dwalin to find him here.

Where before the ferry had been active, full of eager islanders on their way to the big city, now he was alone with the sounds of the wind and the waves lapping against the sides of the ferry. He still wasn’t completely comfortable being on top of the water like this, but he could almost understand people who were by now. It was peaceful like this, and somehow the moon looked brighter than he’d ever seen it. The stars seemed brighter too, but the constellations were strange and unfamiliar.

Had his mother really come here? What had she felt, looking up at an unfamiliar sky, surrounded by unfamiliar people and customs? Surrounded by death of a scale that they knew nothing about, had she been afraid? Bilbo knew better. Belladonna Took would have relished the challenge, feeling truly alive for the first time since her husband’s death. She would have thrived here. All Bilbo could do now was try to emulate that strength.

When he returned to the cabin, curling up under the blankets languidly, sleep came more easily this time, and was not disturbed by unpleasant dreams. He didn’t realize that Thorin and Dwalin had returned, and that he had woken one of them. He didn’t realize that while he slept, Thorin lay awake, wondering if he was wrong to hope.

 

* * *

 

Luca was completely unlike anything Bilbo had ever seen. Of course, Besaid and Kilika had been that way too, but the villages themselves had been rural in a way he was familiar with. Simple people, simple lives. There was nothing rural about Luca.

People were everywhere, people of every race and description. Dwarves elbowed their way through crowds of Elves and Men, Men cheerfully called out their wares from little covered shops, while the Elves danced serenely through the crowds, seemingly heedless to the mortals beneath them. Strange screens on the walls projected images of more people, engaged in some kind of underwater sport. Bilbo shuddered. He couldn’t even imagine it.

“What are these?” he asked, pointing at the screens, and all of the dwarves frowned.

“That, my lad, is a sphere screen,” Balin told him, his forehead still furrowed in a frown. “They project images from far away.”

“Have you really never seen one?” Kíli asked in disbelief.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, never. The Shire is a simple place.”

Their frowns deepened.

Bilbo put his hands on his hips. “What aren’t you saying?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

It was Thorin who answered. “Yevon teaches that the destroyed places, like the Calm Lands and Zanarkand, were destroyed because they used forbidden technology. It was their punishment, they say.” He sounded skeptical.

Bilbo just nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. He didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. What they were saying didn’t match his experience at all, but what did he expect? He still didn’t know much about this world. Better to absorb everything for now, even if it was very, very wrong. An argument about a matter of scripture in the middle of a crowded city would only make trouble.

A sudden fanfare came from the screens, and suddenly Bilbo found himself being pushed toward the nearest one by the crowd as they gathering around. He looked at the dwarves in confusion, but they just signaled that he should watch the screen. The picture changed to show a grainy image of an old, bearded man stepping off another ferry, carrying a staff. For a moment he thought it was Gandalf, but this man’s hair and beard were too white. At the sight of him, most of the crowd immediately did that odd bow. Bilbo followed their lead, even if it felt strange to bow to a picture on a screen.

“Glad to see Maester Saruman arrived safely,” an announcer was saying.

“Make sure you thank his personal battalion of warrior monks for that folks,” another announcer added. “With the recent attack on Kilika, there were some concerns that he wouldn’t be able to leave Bevelle, even for his own tournament!”

“Yes, and what a shame that would be!” the first announcer agreed, and went on to talk about what could be expected from the tournament, but the crowd was already dispersing, freeing Bilbo to rejoin his group.

“Who is that?” he asked, pointing at the screen and feeling like his voice was too loud.

“Maester Saruman,” Balin supplied. “He’s the Head Maester of Yevon, and thus the unofficial ruler of Spira. The various races all have their own kings and chieftains, but everyone answers to Yevon.”

“This tournament is to celebrate another decade as Head Maester,” Fíli added.

“That’s why it’s such a good time to find someone,” Kíli told him. “Everyone’s here for the tournament.”

“It does seem busy,” Bilbo agreed, not knowing what else to say but wanting to be polite. “It’s so different from Besaid and Kilika.”

“Most of Spira is like those islands,” Thorin said, his mouth a tight line. “Where many gather, Sin attacks. Luca is heavily fortified by the Crusaders, but still, it’s a risk.”

Not such a gleaming metropolis after all.

They left the docks behind slowly, the crowd around them slowing passage, as well as elbowing Bilbo in the face more than a few times. The dwarves avoiding this fate by being taller, though the glaring helped. Once people recognized Thorin, they were quick to get out of his way. Were all summoners this famous?

“Right, now why don’t you lads take Bilbo to see some of the games while we look for Gandalf?” Balin suggested, winking at Bilbo. ‘Keep them out of trouble,’ he mouthed, and Bilbo nodded, not certain he was up to the task.

As it turned out, the sport was called ‘Blitzball,’ and Bilbo was sure within seconds that his initial assessment had been correct. How did people play this game without asphyxiating? There were even dwarves playing, and he was sure they must be too heavy for proper swimming.

“Is the water magic?” he asked Fíli and Kíli finally, wondering how everyone could float in it and also breathe.

“Nah, it’s just normal water,” Kíli said breezily, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “I’m gonna play someday, assuming our mother doesn’t kill me for trying.”

Bilbo eyed the pool suspiciously. Somehow, he had no trouble understanding Kíli’s mother’s concerns. He would much sooner accompany Thorin, and face whatever dangers his journey entailed than jump in one of those pools. It was oddly enthralling to watch the Elves and Men maneuver gracefully through the water, but not enough to risk making an ungainly mess of himself.

When the nausea in his stomach settled, he noticed Kíli was watching one player with particularly rapt attention: a striking, red-haired elf maid who seemed to be one of the forwards for the Mirkwood Maulers. Fíli, noticing what had caught his attention, leaned in. “That’s Tauriel, the team captain,” he whispered to Bilbo. “Kíli has a bit of a crush.”

Bilbo watched Tauriel tackle the ball carrier and steal the ball, sending the poor lad flying. Kíli gave an excited whoop.

Bilbo chuckled. “I can’t help but respect the lad for admiring a woman who, by the look of things, could snap his spine over her knee,” he told Fíli with a smile. “She must be a skilled fighter as well as a blitzball player.”

“She used to be the captain of the Mirkwood guard,” Fíli confirmed. “Rumor has it, she was going to be one of Lord Thranduil’s guardians.”

“But she chose to drown instead,” Bilbo observed with a flat look. “I’ll never understand this sport.”

Tauriel sent the ball flying past the opposing goalie, and a loud horn blared, signalling a goal. Kíli leapt to his feet, cheering enthusiastically. Maybe he was just imagining it, but it seemed to Bilbo like the elven forward looked a little embarrassed at the attention. In that moment, seeing such a normal thing in such abnormal circumstances, Spira started to feel more like home.


	5. Legendary Guardian

A hand grabbed Bilbo’s shoulder, and he jerked forward reflexively. He ended up sprawled on the ground, with a bemused Thorin standing behind him. Bilbo straightened, flushing slightly.

“Yes?” he asked politely.

“Someone claims they saw Gandalf,” Thorin reported with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you might want to know.”

A thrill of excitement ran through him. Could their initial hunch really have been right? Maybe he should trust the dwarves to know their own world.

“Let’s go,” Bilbo decided, rushing toward the stadium exit. “Oh.” He stopped. “What about Fili and Kili?”

“Leave them,” Thorin replied, casting a look back at the pair of them. The corners of his eyes softened for the briefest moment, and then he was back to business. “They love Blitzball. They won’t even notice you’re gone.”

It was true. With Bilbo gone, Fili had gotten as into the game as his brother, the pair of them using their powerful dwarven lungs to out shout meeker fans. They were perhaps a little boisterous for Bilbo’s tastes, but then it had been a few years since his last visit to the Great Smials, and his Took relatives. He was a little out of practice dealing with so much noise. Not that he’d ever have the chance to do so again.

Very soon, Thorin led him out of the few areas of Luca he had seen already, onto a quieter path that bordered the sea. There were people here and there, but it was clear that most of Luca was at the stadium. Bilbo allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. In the throng of the crowd, his poor feet had been stepped on numerous times, and no one had apologized. No one had stared at his bare feet either, but he had noticed a few Men walking around with bare feet too. It was comforting to see that in one respect at least he wasn’t an oddity, but the Men didn’t run the risk of not being seen in the crowd.

“Are you sure Gandalf is this way?” Bilbo asked after they had walked for a while without seeing anyone who looked remotely like the wizard. Occasionally he had to jog a little to keep up with Thorin’s slightly longer stride.

“No,” Thorin admitted. “Only someone who resembles him, and they may be gone by now.”

If it didn’t seem so unlikely, it almost felt like Thorin was teasing him. Or just deliberately being difficult. Just in case Thorin wasn’t teasing him, he jogged a little to catch up again.

They reached a square with a spire in the center, and a few odd vendors peddling goods for the blitzball teams. They were implored to honor Maester Saruman’s reign by supporting the tournament in his honor, until they realized that Thorin was a summoner. Then they begged his forgiveness for their aggressive sales pitches. Thorin ignored them utterly, walking by briskly.

“I should have taken them to task over their poor quality goods,” he groused once they were out of earshot. “Such workmanship would fall apart within hours.”

“Why didn’t you?” Bilbo asked curiously. “If their business tactics bother you that much, why not scold them over it? It seems like they would probably listen.”

“Summoners do not care about such things,” was all he said before changing the subject and pointing toward a distant building. “That bar there is where Gandalf was supposedly seen.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Bilbo asked, jogging over to the bar. He pushed the door open eagerly, surveying the room for any sign of a grey beard or a pointy hat. As tall as the other patrons were, he could tell: Gandalf wasn’t here.

He sighed. “All this way for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” Thorin corrected him, standing rigidly at his side and staring at something. “On the screen.” His terse tone of voice drew Bilbo’s attention immediately.

The Blitzball game had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of fiends, pouring into the stands and the sphere pool. The fans fled, screaming and running in a confused mess, but just as he had been told, the Crusaders were there, and they rushed forward to deal with the fiends. Fili and Kili also had neglected to flee, cutting down fiends as they made for the sphere pool. The reason why was clear: few of the blitzball players were armed, and tackling fiends the same way they tackled each other was not proving effective.

“We have to help them,” Bilbo insisted, receiving a terse nod in response, though he suspected Thorin’s concern was more for his nephews than the players or the other spectators.

“Let’s hurry.”

They ran, fighting crowds of fleeing fans as they went. Bilbo had to stay close, and directly behind Thorin to avoid being trampled by the taller fans. Even now at the height of panic, they kept the way clear for a summoner.

If only he hadn’t left, Bilbo thought, cursing himself. He would have been there when the fiends attacked. But then again, what could he have done? He could fight a little, but not enough to make a real difference. Not yet. Even now, wasn’t he slowing Thorin down? Then again, maybe he wasn’t. The dwarves were clearly built more for endurance than for speed. If he pushed, he could probably outrun Thorin if not for the crowd. What a strange thought.

Balin and Dwalin met them at the stadium, emerging from opposite ends of the dock. “Make sure you stay close,” Balin told Bilbo as they climbed the stairs. “It might not be the safest in here, but if we lose you in that crowd, it may be hard to find you again.”

“Right,” Bilbo agreed, feeling a little lighter. Thorin had confirmed Balin’s words with a silent nod, and he was getting used to the idea that sometimes Balin spoke on his behalf. There were some things a summoner wasn’t supposed to say, if he understood what Thorin had told him earlier.

Thankfully, though the sphere pool was still clogged with fiends, it looked like the blitzball players had made it out safely. Fiends still rampaged around the stands, but there were few targets for their fury. Fili and Kili fought back to back with a company of Crusaders, seemingly unharmed, but they were surrounded. Seeing his nephews in danger, Thorin charged forward heedlessly. Balin and Dwalin charged after him, but Bilbo had seen something. Something that told him not to follow, despite what he’d agreed to.

Standing on a balcony, a little above the fray, stood a man clad all in grey, holding a staff.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo cried. They had actually been right all along!

Gandalf didn’t seem to hear him, concentrating on something as he held his staff before him. Then he slammed it on the ground, sending out a shockwave that drove everyone to their knees, but caused the fiends to vanish instantly, as if they’d been vaporized. Bilbo abruptly closed his mouth. No wonder he was famous as a legendary guardian here.

Had he really known anything about Gandalf at all?

Gandalf seemed to notice him then, his sharp eyes piercing the mayhem and meeting Bilbo’s. The wizard inclined his head in the direction of the docks, and Bilbo understood: meet him there, where no one else would be an audience to their conversation. If the wrong people heard them talking about the Shire, who knew what could happen?

On his lightest feet, Bilbo crept back out of the stadium. There was still too much chaos from the fiends being suddenly obliterated for anyone to notice that he was gone. He remembered Balin’s earlier warning, but finding Gandalf had been his goal all along. He didn’t need to continue troubling the dwarves any longer.

Gandalf was waiting on one of the docks, behind a stack of crates that somehow managed to conceal even his impressive height, pointy hat and all. Bilbo wouldn’t have found him at all if there hadn’t been some very circular smoke rings floating out above the crates.

“That’s not very covert,” Bilbo complained, letting Gandalf pull him into a vigorous hug.

“It doesn’t need to be,” Gandalf said, more jovial than their last meeting. “You knew what it meant, but who else would?”

“I don’t know, because apparently there’s a lot you never told me.” Bilbo crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows in accusation. Panic constricted his throat. “Am I the only one who made it out in time?”

Gandalf put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you may believe, or have been told since arriving, know that your friends and neighbors are safe. Yes, you are the only one who made it out, but Sin was after me. Once it had me, it left.”

Bilbo’s throat relaxed. “I’m truly glad to hear that,” he admitted, feeling suddenly tired. “But then why-”

“For now, suffice it to say that the truth is more complicated than I can yet explain,” Gandalf interrupted, though he sounded apologetic. “All that matters at the moment is, you are alive and well, and I intend to offer my services to Thorin as a guardian. You should do the same.”

Bilbo started. “Really? They may not have waited for me. I was only to follow them until Luca, and if I found you, there was really no plan after that.”

“No plan that Thorin knows of,” Gandalf said with a wink. “I told you that someone needed your help, and that someone is Thorin. I brought you out of the Shire for this very reason, and it has worked out better than I had hoped thus far.”

It was strangely comforting that as disorienting and bizarre as the last few days had been, they had all been part of Gandalf’s plan. He still had no idea what that was, and every day brought new and more confusing contradictions into his life, but at least there was a plan. He was an orderly soul, and plans at least were something familiar.

“Just answer one thing,” Bilbo said, grabbing Gandalf’s sleeve as he moved to step out from behind the crates. “Is this where you brought my mother?”

Gandalf’s eyes were suddenly shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Yes. And her sisters, if you recall. Old Took’s remarkable daughters all came to Spira, and left their mark on it.”

“Then why did you say that you weren’t fast enough?” Bilbo demanded.

“Because I wasn’t,” Gandalf replied unhelpfully. “If Thorin does as well as I hope, you will see what I mean in time. For now, we have to convince him to take us on as guardians. It looks like you’ve had some training since I last saw you.”

“Crusaders in Besaid taught me some of the basics,” Bilbo confirmed as they set off in search of the summoner. “And a Sinspawn attacked Kilika Temple, so I’ve had some practice.”

“Well well,” Gandalf declared, raising his eyebrows in amusement. “I think we’ll make a fine guardian of you yet.”

Nevermind if he wanted to be one: since Gandalf had brought him here to be one, a guardian he would be. Even without Gandalf, that was the path he’d been going down. There was something about the little group of dwarves. They’d helped him when he needed it, gave him enough information to avoid embarrassing himself, and let him share in what little they had because it was clear that in this world, he had even less. He doubted there was much he could do, but he couldn’t just walk off now. What if Gandalf was right? What if they did need him? Wouldn’t that be the best way to repay them?

Still, his courage almost failed him after they climbed the tall steps at the edge of town, and found the dwarves waiting on the overlooking balcony. Thorin frowned as they approached, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You were told to stay close,” he reminded Bilbo, his tone not unlike when he was scolding his nephews.

“We were also looking for Gandalf,” Bilbo pointed out, crossing his own arms. “I wasn’t about to lose him again.”

“It is a good thing too, because I wish to offer you my services as a guardian,” Gandalf said, smoothly interrupting the blossoming argument. “Bilbo and I are very lucky that you chose to wait here, instead of leaving immediately. After that business in the stadium, I would not have been surprised if you had done otherwise.”

Thorin’s piercing eye contact suddenly ceased, as apparently the bench next to Bilbo required his attention. “Fili thought maybe Bilbo was trapped by the crowd,” he said, and Fili nodded in affirmation.

“Well I wasn’t, but I appreciate the thought,” Bilbo replied when Gandalf didn’t say anything. “I know I’m no warrior, but-”

“You have to see the Calm Lands for yourself,” Thorin supplied, looking away from the bench to study Bilbo’s face.

“The more the merrier!” Kili declared, throwing an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.

“And with Gandalf at your side, Sin should be a piece of cake!” Fili pointed out, conveniently forgetting that not all of the summoners Gandalf had accompanied had been successful.

Thorin almost smiled. Almost. It was just a faint softening of the lines in his face, the tension leeching out for just a moment. “I would be honored if you would accompany me,” he told Gandalf, with more sincerity than Bilbo expected. “The hobbit needs more training if he wants to reach the Calm Lands,” which was apparently permission to stay.

And with that, Bilbo was officially a guardian. There was no ceremony and there were no vows. It seemed like a rather flimsy contract, but he still knew nothing of this world in the grand scheme of things.

“Well, if there is nothing else…” Gandalf began.

“Yes, let us be off,” Thorin agreed, leading the party out of Luca, and onto the highroad. It was utterly unlike everywhere they had been so far, in that it wasn’t the least bit tropical. Bilbo was a little relieved. He’d done entirely too much sweating on this journey so far, and a pleasant breeze swept across the highroad.

“This is the Mi’ihen Highroad,” Balin told him. “So named for the founder of the Crusaders, who walked this road to defend his soldiers from accusations of fomenting an uprising. He succeeded, and the Crusaders became an arm of Yevon.”

“Lord Mi’ihen had another name, before he received that title,” Gandalf added. “His name was Elros, and he was the brother of Lord Elrond.”

One brother founded the crusaders, and one was a priest of Yevon. Their mother was a fayth, enshrined in Besaid temple. What did Elrond think of his sons joining the Crusaders, Bilbo wondered? What a dreadful cycle of death.

“Have the Crusaders ever succeeded in defeating Sin?” Bilbo asked, staring up at the statue as they passed under it. He tried to trace a resemblance in the carved lines of the statues’ face, but time had worn any distinct features away. Meanwhile, his brother was probably the same as he had been at the time this statue had been carved.

“They have kept Sin away from cities and towns, distracted it during major movements, but no, they have never defeated it,” Gandalf confirmed grimly. That the summoners never truly had either, he left unsaid. Bilbo no longer needed to ask why they would persist despite that. Even a small measure of security was better than none.

There were more people walking the highroad than they had seen outside the villages in Kilika and Besaid, and their attitudes felt lighter. Crusaders patrolled, and the statues of Lord Mi’ihen peered down, giving a sense of safety. Travelers occasionally approached and said they would pray for Thorin’s success, so maybe just having a summoner around gave them hope. As unapproachable as Thorin could sometimes be, he never turned these people away. His responses were short, and not spoken in the gentlest tone, but he thanked them for their prayers all the same. 

Sometimes, these supplicants would also turn and thank the guardians, leaving Bilbo somewhat flustered. He hadn’t done anything yet! Perhaps that was why he threw himself into their battles with fiends with a little more vigor than usual, hoping not to disappoint their expectations of what a guardian should be.

When they camped under an overhanging ruin, Bilbo felt sore and tired, but not much more than was usual for him here. It was encouraging, being able to exert himself and not face too severe consequences, and he’d snagged a lot of useful items from the fiends. Even Dwalin had looked a little impressed at all of the potions he’d managed to get.

“With Bilbo around, maybe we can afford better food,” Kili had observed, picking at the flavorless stew Fili had prepared. “Now that we’re not spending so much on potions.”

“There are many villagers who would be grateful for our dinner,” Thorin replied, though Bilbo saw him wince at the taste. It was rather dreadful, which seemed a shame considering how many wild herbs he’d seen growing along the highroad. They could improve their rations without spending more, which Thorin couldn’t possibly object to.

“Fili my lad, do you know much about foraging?” Bilbo asked him, taking him aside. 

The young dwarf shook his head. “Dwarves don’t really grow food, we trade for it mostly.”

“Ah, well, there are a few herbs growing nearby that I think will improve the flavor of this stew,” Bilbo told him. “They look like this.” He proceeded to sketch them in the dirt, and to his credit, Fili did watch intently.

“Got it,” Fili said, taking off in search of the herbs. When he returned, Bilbo directed him on how to prepare them before mixing them into the stew. Bilbo took a sip of the improved stew and sighed with pleasure.

“Much better,” he said appreciatively, and Fili looked unsure as to whether or not the compliment was for him. The other dwarves were a little more hesitant about trying the new stew, though Gandalf had no such hesitations. In the end, just like everyone who ate a meal Bilbo had been involved with, they admitted it had been an improvement.

“A burglar and a connoisseur of wild plants,” Balin observed with a chuckle. “A different sort of guardian to be sure, but useful nonetheless.” 

Dwalin gave a short laugh of his own, but he didn’t openly disagree. Fili and Kili both nodded eagerly, Bilbo being a guardian having been their idea in the first place. Thorin just ate the stew after giving Bilbo a nod. He didn’t wince, and that would have to be compliment enough.


	6. Roads Go Ever On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are probably going to be about this frequent on this fic, which I hope is okay. I signed up to write for Hobbit Reverse Big Bang, so that's probably going to eat into my writing schedule. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy, and let me know if you have any questions!

Used to Besaid and Kilika, Bilbo was surprised when they walked for the entire next day, and still didn’t reach a temple, or at least another village. There was just more road, stretching on for miles into the distance.

“The world isn’t that small,” Gandalf told him when he asked. “We have reached the mainland now, and here we will stay. The next temple is some distance away, and I suspect we will not reach it as fast as one usually might.”

This caught Thorin’s attention immediately. “Why do you say that, Gandalf?”

“There are more Crusaders on the road than usual,” Gandalf answer, shading his eyes as he looked off into the distance. “They are preparing for something, and it may hamper our progress.”

“There is nothing more important than a summoner’s pilgrimage,” Dwalin argued, crossing his arms.

“The crusaders have long disagreed,” Gandalf replied, effectively ending the conversation and leaving Bilbo confused.

It was a strange shift of power, Bilbo reflected. Before, Thorin had been the undisputed leader of the group, as the summoner. And perhaps because he was a king as well, though none of the dwarves had mentioned it yet, oddly enough. Maybe Elrond had been wrong about that. All of that aside though, Gandalf had authority of his own, and he’d been involved in defeating Sin before. Did a Legendary Guardian rank higher than a summoner with two aeons? What about such a summoner who was also a king?

Bilbo shook his head. In the Shire, he’d known where everyone stood. Between the wealth of his mother’s family, and the respectability of his father’s, he’d been well placed to observe such things, not that he necessarily liked it. Here, he knew too little. This hierarchy didn’t fit into the old grooves. Well, that didn’t matter, now did it? There was tension. Gandalf’s skills were valued, but Thorin was used to being in charge. He chafed at the intrusion. Maybe a bit of a distraction was needed.

A big yellow bird crossed their path, a Crusader astride it, and Bilbo’s jaw dropped. He nudged Fili. “What is that?” he whispered, a little louder than he might have otherwise. Let them focus on the starry-eyed newcomer, and not the wizard for a little while.

“That’s a chocobo,” Fili told him, no longer even a little surprised that Bilbo didn’t know what it was. “There’s a whole brigade of the Crusaders who ride them into battle, because they’re pretty fast and good jumpers.”

“They’re mostly tame, though an angry, wild chocobo isn’t something you want to mess with,” Kili advised him ruefully. This advice was based on experience then, Bilbo thought, trying not to laugh.

“We could have rented chocobos to ride to the end of the Highroad,” Balin added, showing he was a shameless eavesdropper. “But we fit awkwardly on them, giving us little control, and the rental is not cheap.”

Bilbo could imagine, and shuddered at the thought of riding one. They were large birds, and having short legs would make it harder to keep your seat. He certainly wouldn’t be getting on one willingly. That many feathers belonged in a pillow, not surrounding and jostling him.

A snort of laughter escaped Thorin at Bilbo’s horrified expression, though he quickly coughed to cover it up. Bilbo smiled. His distraction had been successful at dissolving the tension, and the group was still laughing and teasing Bilbo over his fear of chocobos when they reached the Travel Agency. That was the only way he could understand not seeing the building sooner, brightly painted in a number of eye-catching colors as it was.

“Beds tonight!” Kili said with a whoop.

“And only one more day on the highroad!” Fili added, stretching an arm above his head.

“You assume I’m paying for rooms,” Thorin observed, his tone deadly serious. Fili and Kili’s faces fell, but Bilbo had been around long enough to know now: his eyes were smiling. Thorin was just teasing them.

“Have some pity on an old man,” Gandalf said, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the fact that he was just playing along. “My back can’t handle these roads like it used to.”

Fili and Kili looked at Thorin expectantly, clearly trying to reign in their eagerness for a bed, and their disappointment at being denied one. He sighed. “Very well. Because of Gandalf.”

The lads let out simultaneous whoops, and bounded off toward the colorful door to the Travel Agency. Dwalin, Balin and Gandalf followed more sedately, while Thorin just watched and shook his head.

“You never intended to refuse,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked over at him sharply, as if he’d forgotten the hobbit was there.

“We all need proper sleep where we can get it,” Thorin replied, recovering from his shock quickly. “Fiends won’t attack us within the agencies.”

Bilbo bit back a sigh. “I wasn’t questioning your decision,” he said, finally following the others to the agency. “I certainly can if you want. It’s only polite to do as a king says.” The words had a sarcastic bite that he hadn’t intended, so he didn’t immediately realize that he’d revealed to Thorin that he knew about his status. He just kept walking, stepping into the cheerfully painted interior of the agency. It felt a little like running away, but what could he do? He didn’t like getting into arguments with Thorin.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw the person behind the counter. How had Thorin gotten ahead of him…? Except Thorin didn’t smile like that, and he couldn’t have changed clothes so quickly. Or hairstyles.

He stood there staring until Fili and Kili noticed him, and dragged him over.

“This is Uncle’s new guardian: Bilbo,” Fili told this other dwarf, who looked him over thoughtfully. “Bilbo, this is our mother, Dís.”

Suddenly, it all clicked. How could he have thought she was Thorin? Her beard was thinner, and her hair had less grey. Not to mention the fact that Dís had a bosom, which of course Thorin lacked. She wore more ornamentation, a gold chain running from a braid in her hair to a piercing on her eyebrow. The more he looked, the less similar they appeared, especially with Dís quirking an eyebrow and smirking at him.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Bilbo finally said with a bow. “These two never dropped a hint.”

“Well, they had no way of knowing,” Dís admitted with a laugh. “These agencies dot the distant corners of Spira. As I run all of them, I could be at any of them. Likewise, Thorin never mentioned a new guardian. The ones he dismissed came running back a few days ago.”

“It was only two or three days ago that it became official,” Bilbo told her, blushing a little under the friendly intensity of her gaze. “You would think they would have said something about their mother running such a useful business.” He remembered the hesitant way Kili had introduced himself, using his mother’s name, as if he had expected Bilbo to know the name, and react in some way.

Dís laughed again, and took Bilbo by the shoulder, leading him into a back room. “Our people don’t like leaving their mountains,” she told him frankly as they walked. “And women are few. My running about and having a business is somewhat controversial, though my profits all go toward building us a more permanent home.”

Bilbo understood then why Thorin had felt the need to justify his decision. He was probably used to people questioning why he would let his sister behave in such a manner, even though his sister was not only an adult, but a mother with grown sons! His own mother never would have tolerated such nonsense… would she? There had been so much talk when she married Bungo, persisting well into Bilbo’s early childhood. Despite their best efforts, he had heard some of it, and he knew that his mother hadn’t dealt with it by picking up her umbrella and fighting off the gossips, as much as she might have wanted to. She had quietly endured.

“I don’t know how, after spending nights on the road, anyone could have any feeling except gratitude when reaching one of your fine establishments,” Bilbo replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. Any bed would be far superior to the hard ground, and he was not ashamed to admit it.

Dís’s eyes widened in surprise, though the surprise quickly faded into delight. “Well, I see how it is now. Thorin never mastered having a civil tongue, so at least one of you needs some manners. Balin managed it before, but that is clearly your area as well,” she observed, clapping Bilbo on the arm. “I feel a little better, knowing that Balin will have some support.”

Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that, but thankfully, he didn’t have to think of anything. He jumped at a sudden pounding sound, followed by Thorin’s muffled shouts.

“Dís, I know you’re back there!”

Rolling her eyes, Dís thrust the door open, knocking Thorin back. He immediately coaxed his features back into a neutral expression, but it was too late. Bilbo had seen him looking oddly frantic.

“I wasn’t going to eat him,” Dís told him, raising her eyebrows. “There were delicate matters to discuss, not fit to speak of in front of customers. Things a guardian needs to know, but wouldn’t, being from outside the family.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but though Thorin clenched his jaw, he didn’t push the subject further.

“I think you were wise to bring him,” Dís continued, pushing Bilbo back toward her brother. “He knew just what to say to me. A talent you lack.”

Bilbo wanted to ask Dís more. Ask her what she thought of her brother’s pilgrimage, ask her why she had so quickly whisked him away to the back room. But now it was Thorin’s hand on his shoulder, drawing him away just as quickly and just as firmly. Thorin didn’t let go until they reached a narrow hallway with several brightly painted doors.

“My sister can be intense,” Thorin said by way of apology. “When young ladies express interest in Fili or Kili, she challenges them to duels. I thought she might do the same, to test your worthiness as a guardian.”

Suddenly Thorin’s urgency made more sense, though Bilbo seriously hoped he was joking, or at least exaggerating. “She wasn’t, but thank you,” Bilbo replied, accepting a key from Thorin and turning toward his room. He fiddled with the lock for a moment, giving Thorin the chance to renew their earlier conversation, but Thorin said nothing more. Bilbo unlocked the door, and stepped inside. After such a long day, he collapsed on the nearest bed without giving any thought to who he might be sharing a room with. He even forgot about dinner.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo dreamed of the Shire, burning and smoking during Sin’s attack. He heard the screams of his neighbors and relatives as they ran from something they’d never seen before. He heard Gandalf shouting at him to run, and even dream Bilbo wondered how anyone could have survived this. Was Gandalf lying to him?

The image shifted, showing the day his mother had left. In his dream, she looked sadder and greyer than he had remembered, her back bowed by years of grief.

“Your father built this smial for me,” she said, her eyes strangely hollow. “I know now. I can’t stay here with him gone. This adventure will be my last.”

Had she really said that? Surely he would have remembered her saying something so foreboding. Maybe his mind was adding it in now, to account for the way she hadn’t come back.

The image changed again, and Bilbo felt himself being carried by something, up towards a giant flaming eye. Its’ gaze seemed to pierce everything, burning away not only his flesh, but his secrets as well. He came closer and closer, the heat searing his skin, and then suddenly the he was cold and wet. Floating in the ocean, where the dwarves had found him.

Bilbo practically flung himself out of bed, his clothes sticking to his skin from a layer of cold sweat. Aware of his heavy panting, he made a conscious effort to breathe more quietly, so as not to disturb the inhabitant of the other bed, but he was still panicking. Shorter, quieter breaths were not enough after coming face to face with Sin. Getting to his feet shakily, Bilbo stumbled toward the door, leaning against the walls as he moved unsteadily through the Travel Agency.

The cool night air had an almost instant calming effect on him. It had just been a dream, he assured himself as he crested the little hillock across from the Agency. He had not actually gotten that close to Sin. How would he still be alive? Not to mention the fact that he had fallen unconscious long before that would have happened anyway. His mind was just playing tricks on him.

A ruined arch jutted out of the water, and Bilbo sat down to stare at it. The dwarves had mentioned the destroyed places a couple of times, and now at last he was face to face with one. Even at night, the water was clear enough that he could see more ruined structures below the arch, fully submerged. The scholar in him wondered what the ruined city had been called, and if the ruined buildings along the Highroad had been part of the same city. The Highroad was named now for the founder of the Crusaders, after all. Had this city been destroyed even before that? Left to moulder under the sea, with no one to remember it?

How long would it take before no one remembered the Shire? Before only the Calm Lands remained in their memories? What about the lost home of the dwarves? Perhaps, over the millenia, they had lost many homes, like this ruined city above the water. Perhaps that was the unspoken reason that the hobbits had fled their original home, and come to the Shire. Maybe Sin had destroyed it. In some ways, it was a calming thought. They had survived Sin before, so they could do so again. He had no choice but to believe that for now.

A twig cracked somewhere behind him, and Bilbo stiffened. Of course there were still fiends out, and yet he’d left the Agency alone and unarmed. It was no use to be calm if he was also dead.

On feather-light feet, he crept back into the Agency, stifling the sigh that threatened to break free when he closed the door behind him. Even in the dark it was easy enough to find the hallway that the sleep rooms were in. The bright paint on the walls was reflective, serving as a guide as long as a single lamp was lit. The outside of the Agency had been much the same, shining like a beacon in the moonlight.

Bilbo made it back to bed without further incident, Gandalf’s quiet snores reminding him not to just flop carelessly onto the mattress. It was safe inside the Agency, he reminded himself as he drifted off to sleep again. As long as her boys were under this roof, Dís wouldn’t let any harm come to them. He had seen it in her eyes, before she had noticed him. With that in mind, sleep came easily, and he had no more dreams that night.

 

* * *

 

“You haven’t asked why I dismissed my guardians.” Thorin’s low voice carried down the hallway, and Bilbo instinctively pressed against the wall. He couldn’t exactly go back into his room (he was the last to wake), and he couldn’t just walk into that conversation. So he had to hide, and wait.

“As long as they journey, a summoner can do as they wish,” Dís replied. “That is the summoner’s privilege. I can’t stop you, so why do I care what you do?” The bitterness in her voice suggested this was a longstanding argument, and she had given up on changing Thorin’s mind a long time ago. After losing their father and brother to Sin, maybe it was understandable.

“Dís-”

“Just don’t let my boys get themselves killed,” she interrupted sharply. “That alone I could never forgive.”

“I will do my best,” Thorin agreed. “They can be thoughtless.”

“Just keep an eye on them,” Dís replied wryly.

Heavy footsteps followed, and Bilbo knew it was time to move. He stepped back from the wall, strolling toward the main room as casually as he could. The illusion was ruined when he nearly ran into Dwalin, who was apparently watching the end of the hallway.

“Finally,” Dwalin muttered, pushing Bilbo past him into the room hard enough that Bilbo stumbled. “Thorin, we’re ready to go.” Gandalf, Balin, Fili and Kili were waiting by the exit, their packs all looking much heavier than before they’d arrived. Thorin was standing in front of the counter, loading his own pack with supplies from Dís.

“Don’t be reckless now,” Dís told them. “Whatever the Crusaders are planning, it’s going to be big. Stay away from it.” She turned her stare on her sons. “That means you!”

“Yes mother,” they chorused obediently, though as they left the Agency there were mischievous sparks in their eyes. Their promise would last about as long as their mother could see them.

“Bilbo,” Dís called out when he was halfway out the door.

“At your service,” Bilbo replied with a hesitant bow.

“Keep an eye on my brother,” she said, pinning him with her gaze. “He won’t admit it, but he’s as reckless as my boys. In the heat of battle, none of the others will think to check him, because of how long they’ve spent fighting together. Because of who you are, you’re the only one who can. Don’t let him put himself in danger.”

“I might get dismissed if I say too much,” Bilbo pointed out. “And Thorin’s going to fight Sin! Isn’t that the most dangerous thing he could be doing?”

“He has to stay alive until then,” she insisted. “Please, Bilbo. If you actually manage to protect him, and prove yourself as a guardian, the others won’t let him send you away.”

Bilbo wondered exactly how much she knew, especially about his meager fighting skills, but there was no time to ask. Fili and Kili were tugging on his arms and dragging him away from the Agency, so all he could do was wave as Dís disappeared from view. He realized as the door closed behind him that she hadn’t remarked upon his being a hobbit even once.

“I can walk by myself,” he assured Fili and Kili tartly, stepping back from them and making a show of brushing off his coat.

“It’s hard to know with our mother,” Fili admitted as they started walking down a much nicer looking section of the Highroad.

“She has that ‘unable to walk afterwards’ effect on people,” Kili agreed.

Given the time he’d spent with their mother, Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if they were referring to her skills in battle, or making some kind of crude innuendo. Or possibly both? He looked to Thorin for some indication, but he, as well as Balin and Dwalin, just nodded gravely. No wonder Kili introduced himself as ‘son of Dís.’


	7. Those who fight Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our third and final summoner is introduced in this chapter, and though she may seem like and odd choice (and it corrupts the timeline a little), when you're desperate for one of your summoners to be human, and at least one to be female, Tolkien gives very few options.

“Beyond this gate lies Mushroom Rock Road, a treacherous maze of rock and fiends,” Gandalf announced, tapping the bricks of the road with his staff. “The Crusaders make their headquarters here, protected by the natural rock formations. Some have called it the great Watchtower of Amon Sul, though not for an age.”

Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered how old Gandalf really was.

“If they’re planning some sort of operation, this is where they’ll hold us up,” Dwalin observed grimly. “As if they had the right.”

“Now, now,” Balin said, rubbing his temples tiredly. “If they are planning something, we don’t want to get caught in the middle, now do we?”

“We can avoid their headquarters and Mushroom Rock Road entirely if we take the Djose Highroad,” Thorin pointed out. “It’s the most direct route to the temple.”

A nearby Crusader heard them. “I’m sorry Lord Summoner, but this section of the Djose Highroad is closed. Something for our latest operation was being transported, and it was done improperly. Part of the road collapsed, and is being repaired right now. Until then, it’s impassable.”

What could they possibly have been transporting, that dropping it destroyed part of the road? He remembered the twins in Besaid talking about advanced dwarven weapons, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that they could have so much power, not when his dwarves fought with swords and axes. Probably someone had underestimated the danger of a given weapon, and been made to regret it. The road did seem to run along a cliff face, so it was at least more plausible than claiming that they’d destroyed the flat sections of the Mi’ihen Highroad.

“It would seem that we have no choice,” Gandalf observed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I suspected as much, though I did not think they would actually destroy part of the road.”

“You think it was intentional?” Thorin asked, his eyes narrowing as they turned onto Mushroom Rock road. The immediate change in geology explained the name: the stone naturally formed into top heavy columns, almost like mushrooms. It was almost enough to make Bilbo hungry, if not for the possibility of some conspiracy lurking behind those stones.

“The Crusaders are known for trying to attract Sin for their operations,” Gandalf pointed out, tapping the ground as if it was going to give way at any second. “It is possible that they destroyed the road to route all travel through one road, making us into bait for Sin. Or it was an accident.”

“Either way, we must be cautious,” Balin advised.

Dwalin muttered something rude about using summoners as bait, but no one else dared to voice their thoughts. The idea of being used by the Crusaders put them too much on edge. Still, Bilbo remembered the twins again, and doubted they were capable of using people as bait. Mushroom Rock Road was more sheltered from the ocean, and there were no interesting ruins, so somehow it felt safer than the alternative, despite the fiends.

Speaking of the fiends, he was beginning to realize that there was another reason why it was called Mushroom Rock Road. Many of the fiends resembled mushrooms with limbs, and released noxious fumes. After Kili inhaled some and had to be carried for half the day, everyone found ways to cover their mouths and noses to avoid repeating his mistake, using strips of cloth torn from spare clothes. It wasn’t a perfect system, but no one else succumbed to the fumes during their long day of meandering through the rocky maze.

“We should be safe for the night up there,” Gandalf said, pointing at a platform higher up. “The Crusader’s headquarters is near there, so fiends will avoid the area.” 

“But how-” Bilbo began, wondering how they were going to get up there, when the ground beneath his feet suddenly shook, and started rising into the air. He resisted the urge to sit down on the lift to avoid falling, settling for gritting his teeth and crossing his arms. It wasn’t natural, getting tossed up in the air like this. Especially when he couldn’t really see where they were going in the dim light.

Once the lift stopped, they found a sheltered nook to lay Kili under. He hadn’t so much as stirred since his initial collapse, aside from his eyes moving rapidly under the lids, and his erratic breathing. If not for that, Kili could easily be mistaken for a very dead dwarf.

“Maybe the smell of dinner will revive him,” Bilbo muttered, already puttering about in search of anything edible to supplement their rations. The rocky terrain yielded very little in the way of plants, to say nothing of edible ones.

“Can you do nothing for him, Gandalf?” Fili asked, his forehead knit with worry. He smoothed back Kili’s bangs for the hundredth time, obsessively checking for signs of a fever.

“I’m afraid not,” Gandalf admitted. “With a little more practice, Thorin might learn to purge poisons, but more than likely the lad will recover best on his own.”

Despite those words, Bilbo put as many aromatic healing herbs as he could find into their stew, hoping it wouldn’t render the stew inedible. The looks Thorin and Dwalin gave him as it cooked, producing a hideous stench, suggested that they already considered it so. Even Kili, unconscious as he was, couldn’t miss such a strong smell. It wasn’t enough to wake him, but they saw more signs of life. His breathing became deeper, and he started tossing and turning, as if he was asleep instead of knocked out. Encouraged, Fili tried to spoon him some of the stew. Most of it dribbled out of the corners of his mouth at first, but eventually Kili seemed to be swallowing on his own. Fili fed him the whole bowl. 

After that, there were no more glares or whispered snide comments about how the stew smelled. It did have a strong flavor, but not an unpleasant one if Bilbo was any judge. And if the mushrooms in the stew came from some of the fiends they’d fought, well, Bilbo wasn’t telling. He washed them thoroughly just in case.

The morning found Kili bleary-eyed but conscious. He was able to walk if he leaned on Fili, and he insisted that he could go on, so they broke camp quickly and set off. Their pace had to be punishing for the still-weak Kili, but a look from Gandalf and Thorin silenced any complaint he would have made on Kili’s behalf. If they were being used as bait, better that they get out of Mushroom Rock Road as soon as possible. Kili could rest in a less dangerous area.

Eventually, the fog cleared, and Bilbo saw a dreary looking beach in the distance. Crusaders crawled all over it like ants, hauling planks and blocks along the shore. “Is that…?”

“The Djose shore,” Gandalf confirmed with a nod. “The rest of the Djose Highroad is just beyond, if they haven’t destroyed that too.”

“We’ll soon see if the Crusaders lied to us,” Thorin observed, his jaw set stubbornly.

When they first emerged from Mushroom Rock Road, it looked like the Crusaders had been telling the truth, or at least partly. Turning back toward the way they’d come, Bilbo saw a huge section where the road was just missing. As he watched, the Crusaders struggled to install temporary wooden scaffolds. On the other side, crates of weapons were stacked, some of them rigged with ropes to be lowered down to Crusaders waiting below. On the beach itself, Men and Dwarves pushed much larger weapons in the opposite direction, down the Djose Highroad.

“Bait or not, road collapse or not, they’re obviously planning something,” Dwalin muttered, positioning himself next to Thorin so that no one got too close. Bilbo stuck close to Gandalf for the same reason. The last thing he needed was to get hit by one of those road-destroying weapons because no one thought to look down.

“Summoner Thorin,” a man called out, jogging toward them. Once he was close enough, he saluted them. “I am Captain Bard, your escort to the temple.”

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged a look. It wasn’t a friendly one.

“We received no word of an escort,” Thorin replied bluntly, looking over the Crusader with undisguised displeasure.

“Not that we wouldn’t be grateful for one, of course,” Bilbo interjected, before Balin could even open his mouth. “It’s just that no one mentioned it.”

“Want to keep us out of the way of all this, I assume,” Balin observed, giving Bard a knowing look.

“Precisely,” Bard agreed. “We aren’t in the middle of an operation, but preparations for our next one are underway. Given what has already happened during transport, we don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Thorin looked like he was swallowing a lemon. “Very well.”

As Bard led them silently across the shore, deftly weaving through groups of laboring Crusaders, Bilbo muttered to himself. “Djose shore, Djose shore…” the place name was familiar for some reason, which was probably a first. Carved stones and upright twigs dotted the shore, and after he saw a few idle Crusaders kneeling in front of them, he realized that they must be graves.

‘Sin crushed him, and left him broken on the Djose shore.’

Dwalin had spoken those words on the ship to Luca. So this was where Frerin, whoever he was, had died. Maybe that accounted for Thorin’s edginess. There was a hardness to the dwarf king’s eyes as he looked at the graves, as if the dead there had personally insulted him. Perhaps some of them had.

“You might say this is one of Spira’s oldest battlefields,” Balin said, noticing the direction of Bilbo’s gaze. “This is usually where the Crusaders fight Sin, and here they die. Not long after we lost our home, many of us joined the Crusaders, hoping for revenge.” He shook his head sadly. “Thorin lost his grandfather and brother here, and Dwalin and I lost our father. We were late to the operation, which was a mixed blessing. By the time we reached the battlesite, only Sinspawn and the dead remained. We fought like mad men, blinded by our grief, but that couldn’t save them.”

“We don’t like burying our dead, except in stone tombs,” Dwalin added, making Bilbo jump. “There is never time after these operations. All who die here are burned, including the dwarves. Their spirits never reach the Farplane.”

Bard gave Dwalin a sharp look. “We Send all of our dead, to ensure that they reach the Farplane. I used to be a Summoner. I ensure it.”

“Sometimes a Sending isn’t enough,” Dwalin replied with a shrug, and said no more.

Bilbo didn’t have the heart to try and smooth things over again. No wonder Thorin wanted to believe that Bilbo had been carried through time. That had to be preferable to believing that his brother was damned to wander Spira as a fiend.

“This operation you’re planning,” Gandalf began, changing the subject. “If not here, then where will it be? We must know for our route planning, of course. We wouldn’t want to get in the way again.”

For a moment, Captain Bard looked as though he wasn’t going to answer, but then recognition dawned in his eyes, and he stood a little straighter. Gandalf’s reputation, Bilbo guessed.

“I can’t share details, but the plan is to trap Sin inside Mt. Gagazet where it can’t do any harm while we hit it with all we have,” Bard related. It didn’t sound like much of a plan, though maybe that was because the details had been stripped out. Bilbo seriously hoped that was the case, anyway.

“Isn’t that where your people are from?” Bilbo asked Thorin quietly, noticing how the summoner had gone rigid.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed, his eyes like chips of flint. “A scheme like that could bring the whole mountain down, and anyone on top of it.”

“As you can see from the speed of our preparations, it is unlikely we will reach the mountain before you,” Bard told them, stepping deftly around a fallen weapons crate. “We won’t move until you’re clear, but if we get there first, you will have to wait.”

Dwalin bristled, but Balin’s hand on his arm stopped whatever he was going to say. He settled for crossing his arms and glaring at whichever hapless Crusader looked his way at any given moment.

Bilbo practically sighed with relief when the crates and Crusaders started to thin out, the beach transitioning into a firm rock shelf. The tension with Captain Bard aside, Kili had been stumbling in the sand. He would walk more easily on solid ground.

“Thank you for the escort, Captain,” Gandalf said politely, with a pointed look at Thorin.

Thorin seemed to have another idea though, making eye contact with Bard for the first time. “Why did you quit your pilgrimage?” he asked, managing to address the Crusader in a civil tone for once, though it felt like a rude question.

Bard stiffened for a moment, and he gave Thorin a long look. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him that he wasn’t being asked out of idle curiosity, because his whole demeanor softened. “My wife passed away, and we have three children. They needed me. I joined the Crusaders so that I could still fight Sin while caring for them.”

“Being a Crusader is not much safer,” Balin observed with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” Bard agreed wryly. “But few others will accept a summoner who has strayed from his pilgrimage.”

Bilbo was still puzzling over those words long after they left Bard behind. The Djose Highroad stretched out before him, lightning crackled in the distance, but his mind was still back on that beach.

“Gandalf, what did he mean?” Bilbo asked finally, after a particularly nasty scrape with local fiends. Fili was bleeding out of a gash on his head, forcing a halt while Thorin healed it.

“No one can question a summoner while they journey,” Gandalf reminded him. “But if they quit, everything they’ve ever done comes into question. Becoming a summoner is a tremendous sacrifice, and people like to believe that all summoners are paragons of virtue. Yevon encourages this view, and tells the people to be like summoners in their daily lives. Whenever one has enough doubts that they decide to quit, that notion is weakened. Yevon doesn’t like that, because of how much emphasis they’ve placed on emulating the summoners.”

“They don’t understand that some responsibilities are more important,” Thorin agreed, light pouring from his hand into Fili’s wound. “There are enough orphans in Spira. Captain Bard chose wisely.”

Bilbo stared, surprised at the sudden change of opinion. “You like him better now, don’t you? Now that you know what motivates him.”

Thorin and Dwalin turned twin glares on him, and he did his best not to quail under them. It was easier, knowing that he was right.

“The Crusaders are known as a bunch of reckless young men, who throw their lives away for nothing,” Balin told him heavily. “Captain Bard’s motivations prove that he is not a foolish youth, though he is certainly an optimist. Maybe this operation isn’t as doomed to catastrophic failure as it sounded.”

“What about the mountain though?”

Thorin gazed in the direction of the next temple wistfully. “If their operation guarantees that my people don’t have to lose their home ever again, it would be worth sacrificing this one.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, though.

“More than likely they’ll bring down the whole mountain with nothing to show for it,” Dwalin muttered.

They camped that night under an overhang, the barren environment of the Highroad offering no helpful plants for Kili, or for improving the flavor of their dinner. Bilbo watched the way lightning crackled in the air up ahead, as if the sky in that direction roiled with a constant storm. At this distance, it was too far away to be terrifying. Instead, it calmed him, knowing that the lightning must come from that temple’s fayth. He hummed the hymn to himself softly, barely registering that the dwarves had joined in, until he fell asleep.

Bilbo woke wondering why Thorin accepted Bard’s reason for quitting his pilgrimage. If he’d been successful, wouldn’t Sin have been destroyed? There would be no more orphans then, or at least Sin wouldn’t be making new ones. Bard could return to his children, knowing that he had saved them until a new Sin was born.

He couldn’t ask Thorin. Given how the summoner had reacted yesterday when Bilbo had questioned him about the Man, it seemed unlikely that he would get a useful answer. Balin probably wouldn’t question Thorin, so that left Gandalf.

Gandalf only said, “My dear Bilbo, what if he had failed? He would not only have left his children parentless, but parentless in a world where Sin runs free. He must have felt that was too great a risk.”

So why did he feel like there was something no one was telling him?

Djose Temple was unlike the other two temples in every way. For one, as far as Bilbo could tell, there wasn’t any kind of village or town nearby. For another, as they approached, the top of the temple exploded outward, the rocks slowly hovering around the top, suspended somehow by lightning bolts.

“What if one of them falls?” he asked Gandalf nervously, but Gandalf just chuckled.

“That, Bilbo, is the lightning Mushroom Rock. It appears when a summoner is addressing the fayth, and the rocks never fall,” Gandalf told him. “I have seen it many times, and the rocks always remain high above us.”

“That means there’s another summoner here,” Fili pointed out, looking toward the temple entrance with visible apprehension.

“It may not be Thranduil,” Balin said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Thorin’s expression could have been carved from the surrounding stone.

It was not Thranduil who emerged from the Cloister of Trials, but a woman, tall and straight-backed, with long dark hair and olive skin. Her eyes reminded Bilbo of storm clouds, or maybe a freshly sharpened blade. Behind her stood two young women, one with yellow hair and those same grey eyes, and the other with dark hair and blue eyes. At the sight of them, the rest of the company and the priests immediately swept into the prayer.

“You were successful, your majesty?” one of the priests addressed her.

“I was,” the woman agreed. “But I thought we agreed that the proper title now is summoner, not majesty.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the priest said, and she sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

“You are being very rude to the other summoner,” she told him, with a pointed look in Thorin’s direction.

“Ah, summoner Thorin!” The priest started, as if he’d only just noticed Thorin was there, then threw himself wholeheartedly into the prayer. “Please accept my humblest apologies.”

“Summoner Morwen has that effect on people,” Thorin replied indifferently.

Bilbo gave Gandalf a questioning look. “Ah, of course, poor Bilbo is completely in the dark,” Gandalf said apologetically. “Bilbo, this fine lady is Summoner Morwen, sometimes called Morwen Steelsheen, also Queen of the Men of Luca and the surrounding environs.”

“I see you’re backing a different chocobo, Gandalf,” she observed, performing a slight variation of the prayer as she bowed to Thorin, which he returned. She switched to addressing him instead. “Shall we have a race, to see whether my daughters are the equals of your dwarvish warriors, and legendary guardian?”

Bilbo tried not to be offended that she apparently hadn’t noticed him.

“I think we have slightly more motivation,” Thorin replied, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Bilbo relaxed a fraction, though his heart nearly skipped a beat. Why, Thorin was being almost charming!

“We shall see what that is worth when you address the fayth,” she said, though her tone was still playful. “Good luck, Summoner Thorin.”

She departed with her guardians, the priests trailing in her wake, and Bilbo released a breath he hadn’t realized that he’d been holding in. So not all of the summoners had openly antagonistic relationships, though all of the ones he’d met so far had been leaders of their people, hadn’t they? He shook his head. Maybe there was a reason for that, but it was just another question that no one was likely to answer, so he let it go as they crossed the threshold into his first official cloister of trials.


	8. Ride ze Shoopuf?

Djose Temple made Bilbo long for shoes. Every surface of the temple seemed to crawl with threads of lightning, and the boots the dwarves wore seemed to offer them some measure of protection. Bilbo was constantly getting zapped in his unprotected soles, until his curly hair stood on end. In that respect, at least the dwarves looked like they were getting zapped too. The air was incredibly dry, and the static made all of the dwarves and Gandalf look like disgruntled lions. Now if only they had to deal with frequent electric shocks.

Having never entered the cloister before, Bilbo was surprised when Thorin reached for one of the charged spheres set into the wall. Even wearing thick gloves, the pain was visible in Thorin’s face by the way he grit his teeth. It was enough to make him feel that maybe he’d been a bit too mean-spirited, wishing that the others got zapped too. Suffering was clearly part of the trial.

Eventually, after the whole party had sustained their share of shocks, they ascended a lift, then some stairs, and came to a round chamber with an odd triangular door on the other side. The Hymn of the Fayth was strong here, a deep male voice that resonated in his bones. Combined with the cool stone floor, lacking the current of the earlier rooms, it was soothing.

Thorin didn’t stop, moving toward the oddly-shaped door, but everyone else sat down, or leaned against the wall. Bilbo’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Why is no one following?” he asked Gandalf quietly, wincing when his words echoed.

“It’s taboo to enter the chamber of the fayth if you’re not a summoner,” Gandalf told him. “Though no one has ever bothered to ask the fayth what they think of the matter.”

Bilbo watched Thorin disappear behind the door, and sat down on the floor to wait. When Thorin had addressed the first fayth, had the others sat outside the chamber and waited for that whole day, wondering what had happened? It was strange to think that even if he’d been able to go with him into the cloister, nothing would have changed. He still would have been waiting on the other side of a door, not knowing what was happening.

“This fayth has special importance to the summoner you met earlier,” Gandalf said conversationally, taking out his pipe and packing it for a smoke. “In life, he was Eorl, the first king of this region, and the ancestor of Morwen’s husband. He was known for being a brilliant rider of any beast of burden, which is why his aeon takes the form of a magnificent horse.”

Gandalf clearly thought there was a logic to the forms the aeons took, but Bilbo almost wondered at the cruel irony. Durin V fell facing a fiery sinspawn, and became a fiery aeon. Eorl was always the rider, now he is the steed. What had Elrond’s mother been in life, to become a bird?

“I don’t know if I like this world much,” he admitted quietly. No matter how many fiends he killed, his sword still felt unwelcome in his hands. He doubted he would ever be comfortable with it, knowing he was fighting the restless dead. “I miss not having to fight every day.”

“Adventure isn’t everything you wanted?” Gandalf asked with a raised eyebrow, though he sounded amused.

“Maybe it would be if I knew I could go back home. But I don’t even know if I have a home waiting for me.” He drew his knees up to his chin, and wrapped his arms around his legs. “This world makes me feel small.”

“Everyone is small before Sin,” Gandalf said, lighting his pipe, and then placing a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “That is why defeating it is so important. Thorin will need you in order to do that.”

There was no point in asking Gandalf why exactly. He’d smoothly evaded the matter of the Shire, and he would probably evade that question too. But he had another burning question that Gandalf couldn’t escape so easily. “Why Thorin? There are other summoners out there. Why do you think Thorin is the one to back?”

Gandalf chewed on the end of his pipe thoughtfully. “It is hard for me to say, but I have a feeling. Just a feeling that Thorin’s quest will lead to Sin’s permanent defeat,” the wizard admitted. “Nothing more or less than that.”

“You really think so, Gandalf?” Kili asked, looking up from sharpening his sword. Fili looked up too, a faint hope gleaming in his eyes.

“As I said, it is just a feeling, and a vague one at that,” Gandalf rushed to assure them. “But I do think something is going to be different this time.”

“Well, if that’s the case, Bilbo, you need to practice your swordwork more,” Balin decided, clapping his hands together. “If we’re to have a chance, every Guardian must be in top shape, and you still miss as often as you hit. Fili! Take Bilbo through his forms.”

After a few hours of punishing sword practice, Bilbo looked as sweaty and exhausted as Thorin did when he finally emerged from addressing the fayth. All Thorin would say was, “Men,” practically spitting the word before allowing Dwalin and Balin to lead him away. The temple priests, seeing Thorin’s condition, graciously lent them rooms, and even hard beds were better than the road.

When the morning came, and they took a turn Bilbo hadn’t noticed before, he found that was starting to tire of highroads. At least this one was ringed with lush grasses, and the longer they walked, the thicker the vegetation became. He walked slightly behind the party, searching the grasses for helpful herbs. That lasted until a fiend lunged out from behind a bush, knocking Bilbo onto his butt in surprise. After that, Thorin insisted that he stay with him at the center of the formation, “where it was safe.” He felt a little bit like useless baggage for a while. The herb gathering had been one of the few ways he could be more useful.

“It’s a guardian’s place,” Balin insisted, though he winked for some reason. “Fili and Kili take point, Gandalf and Dwalin watch our backs, and you and I stay with Thorin.” Still, Bilbo wondered if Thorin’s agreement with Gandalf was the only reason they hadn’t tried to drop him off somewhere yet.

Next to Thorin wasn’t the best place to be if one wanted conversation. Not that Thorin walked in stony silence or anything. Thorin and Balin would converse periodically about the route, how the weather looked, how the supplies were holding up, or how much more healing Thorin could do after that last fight. But they were short, businesslike conversations that Bilbo could realistically have no part in. For all that he’d had a few meaningful conversations with Thorin, he still didn’t really know how to talk to him, so the hours dragged on, his feet plodding against the road. Eventually, Thorin saved him the trouble.

“Who told you that I was a king?” he asked, his voice low enough that probably only Balin could easily eavesdrop. From the urgency of his tone, it sounded like he’d been meaning to ask for a long time, but there hadn’t been an opportunity. Or he just hadn’t known how to broach the subject, and finally decided that it didn’t matter how he did it.

“Elrond,” Bilbo supplied. “I guess I don’t understand why you wouldn’t have told me yourself.”

“A king with no country is not a king at all,” Thorin replied, eyes looking straight in front of him doggedly. “Once I defeat Sin, it will be irrelevant. There was no reason for you to know.”

“Well I do, so there’s no need to pretend it’s some kind of great secret,” Bilbo replied tartly. “It seems like all of the summoners are leaders of their people in some way.” Except Captain Bard, but maybe there was more to that than Bilbo knew.

“We are responsible for our people,” Thorin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Defeating Sin would protect our people, so we all feel that we have to at least try. Rule without responsibility is just tyranny.”

“Is it the same with the fayth?” He still knew very little about the first fayth, but the other two so far had both been kings as well.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed with a nod. “Often they were summoners as well, who knew that they were going to fail. They wanted to protect their people for as long as they could, and the fayth are nearly eternal.”

“‘Nearly’?” What was more eternal than stone?

“There is a reason some groups have moved to be closer to an important fayth,” Balin admitted, interjecting with another wink. “In ages past, some have stolen and hidden fayth, or done their best to destroy them.”

“But why would someone do something like that?” he asked, scratching his head in confusion. “I thought everyone completely supported the summoners. And really, why wouldn’t they?”

No one answered, and it would be a long time before he understood why.

 

* * *

 

They told him the Moonflow was considered beautiful, and objectively he supposed it was, but the way the pyreflies clustered around the moon lilies around the bank made Bilbo think that death clung to this place. Enchanted by the view, one could walk into the Moonflow and never walk out again, perhaps.

“You’re going to have to get used to it for a while, I’m afraid,” Gandalf told him when he voiced the concern. “Our next destination is Guadosalam and the Macalania Woods, sometimes jointly referred to as Mirkwood. They are closer to death there, and maintain an opening to the Farplane.”

There were some things he doubted he’d ever be able to get used to. Being surrounded by so much unnatural death was definitely one of them. The unusually large fauna, like the chocobos on the highroad and the Shoopuf that they now expected him to ride, were another. It reminded him of some of his father’s old books, with pencil drawings of oliphaunts. Except oliphaunts weren’t blue, and their trunks didn’t form tight curls at the bottom.

“It’s not like riding a pony or a chocobo,” Balin assured him with an entirely too jovial expression. “There are proper benches to sit on, and there’s not much jostling about.”

There were in fact proper benches, but Balin lied utterly about the jostling. The shoopuf swayed as it walked, causing the riding platform to swing back and forth. The dwarves insisted that it wasn’t moving that much, but he suspected they were just lying to tease him. Eventually, he determined that if he sat on the bench backward and peered into the clear water, the sight of the ruins under the river was interesting enough that he could ignore the shoopuf’s ungainly stride. It seemed like everywhere they went, there was crumbling evidence of lost civilizations. Just how had Spira survived this long? And how many more years before Luca joined some of these ruins, at the bottom of the sea?

They camped that night under the shelter on the opposite bank of the Moonflow, and Bilbo dared to ask a question he’d been sitting on for some time.

“What created Sin?” he asked the group once they finished their meal. “What was the world like before it was born?”

“That is a difficult question,” Gandalf admitted. “The Elves say that Sin came into being after a great war between them, their dwarven allies, and a great evil, whose name has been lost to history. This war destroyed many places, including Doriath, which we now call Zanarkand. It was not the greatest of the destroyed kingdoms, but when the dust cleared, Sin appeared. The heir of that kingdom, the lady Luthien, rose from the ashes as well, and along with her husband Beren, found a way to defeat Sin with the final aeon.”

“Others say that Sin was created by Yevon, as punishment for using advanced weapons against that evil. ‘To use evil against evil makes one evil,’ Yevon states,” Thorin said bitterly. “Thus when we throw our weapons away, and repent for our sins, Sin will be gone forever.”

“But how can weapons be evil?” Bilbo asked. “They don’t think or have hearts. If you throw them away, won’t Sin just kill everyone?”

“Ah, now that is the all important question,” Balin admitted. “Yevon says that the existence of Sin is proof that they are evil, though that seems like shoddy logic to me. Any number of things could have brought Sin into this world. Sin could even just be that great evil Gandalf mentioned, never truly defeated in the first place. The entire reason the Crusaders exist is because they believe what you just stated: if we throw our weapons away, Sin will destroy everything.”

For the first time, Bilbo was truly grateful that he’d been found on the beach by dwarves. It wasn’t that the other races had been unkind to him, but he got the impression that others might have been less willing to interrogate what Yevon had taught them all their lives. The dwarves, as relative outsiders, were somewhat skeptical. Still, if Sin had been around for that long, why had he never heard of it until it was setting the Shire on fire? Something wasn’t adding up, yet again.

“Don’t repeat any of this,” Dwalin warned him. “Thorin could be excommunicated if blasphemy was connected to him.”

“It is the fayth who decide who is worthy of their power, not the Yevon priesthood,” Gandalf replied shortly. “Though they could put a few unnecessary obstacles in our path, to be sure.”

When morning came, Bilbo discovered that they hadn’t camped very far from the next town: Guadosalam. They could have made it there the night before without much trouble, and he wondered why Thorin had chosen to camp outside the town instead. Then he saw a flash of platinum blond hair, and remembered their encounter with Summoner Thranduil at Kilika Temple. Childish though it might seem, Thorin probably wanted to avoid the other summoner on his home ground.

Guadosalam itself was a town of crisscrossing roots and overhanging vines, the buildings themselves hidden inside tree trunks. The elves who lived in these dwellings felt very different from the elves in Besaid, their eyes sharper and their clothes in drabber colors. Bilbo understood then why this place was called Mirkwood by some: the air felt close and unwelcoming, as if the roots of the trees were going to reach out and grab him by the ankle. Not to mention that the feeling of death was even closer than it had been at the Moonflow. It overwhelmed him, pulling on something deep inside that he didn’t dare name.

“We visit the Farplane, then leave,” Thorin announced, leading them up paths of twisted vines. “We don’t have time to waste here.”

Bilbo’s stomach gurgled in protest when they reached the Farplane stairs, leading up through what looked like a mirror, or a giant glass bubble. “If I go in there, what will I see?”

“Memories of the dead,” Gandalf told him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “More accurately, your image of the dead. They cannot speak to you, but for some it is helpful just to see them, and know that they made it to the Farplane safely. You do not have to go. I myself will be staying down here.”

“Can I- can I see my mother?” he asked, the pain in his gut fading at the thought.

“If she made it to the Farplane,” Gandalf assured him, sitting on a stone wall and taking out his pipe.

And suddenly, he had to know. It would go a long way toward answering what fate had befallen her. So, meeting Thorin’s questioning gaze, Bilbo climbed the stairs after the dwarves, and stepped through the looking glass into the Farplane. The first thing he saw was the moon lilies, spreading across the plain below the viewing platform. He almost wished he’d taken one from the Moonflow to examine more closely. They must be a truly extraordinary flower to grow in both the realms of the living and the dead.

Scattered across the viewing platform, the dwarves stood apart from each other, addressing translucent figures floating above the ravine. Fili and Kili faced an older blond dwarf, who Bilbo guessed was their father before he realized he was intruding and looked away. Dwalin and Balin likewise appeared to be talking to their father. But Thorin… Bilbo knew right away that the dwarf across from him was Frerin, the brother lost to Sin.

“Dwalin was right, and I was a naive, hopeful fool,” he heard Thorin say before seeking out his own private corner.

Staring out over the ravine, Bilbo felt a little stupid. What was he supposed to do to call the dead, anyway? Did he need to sing like Thorin did when he sent them? Surely someone would have mentioned that if it were necessary. Did he need to do the prayer? He tried it, without result. Bilbo tapped his foot in irritation. This place needed to come with instructions.

“Think of the dead, and they will appear,” Thorin said, suddenly beside him. Bilbo jumped in surprise.

“That’s it?” It seemed oddly simple.

“The pyreflies react to your memories and form an image,” Thorin explained, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing his lips. “If no one appears, they are either not dead, or not Sent.”

Bilbo focused on his most enduring image of his mother, practicing swordplay with a broom until she realized that someone was watching. Strong as that memory was, when he opened his eyes she wasn’t there, and his heart struggled with conflicting emotions.

“She may not be dead,” Thorin reminded him, any trace of a smile vanishing at this failure.

“Or she’s a fiend,” Bilbo replied glumly. “Preying on passerby mindlessly.” But that didn’t sound like Belladonna Took, and he knew it. The day she’d left, he’d known: she was looking for a place to die. She wouldn’t have become a fiend with feelings like those. She wouldn’t have needed a sending.

Thorin had said they would leave once they had all finished their business with the Farplane, but he didn’t push Bilbo to leave. They stayed like that, standing side by side and staring out into the abyss, until Bilbo finally decided he’d had enough moping over things he couldn’t change, and they left. To distract himself, Bilbo allowed himself to wonder if Thorin still believed him, now that he knew his brother was well and truly dead. He hoped so, but that was another question he wasn’t ready to ask.


	9. Thunder and Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all of you who are hanging in there, I know I don't update this fic as often as my previous chaptered fics. Rest assured I still have several chapters in the backlog, I just don't want to burn through it.

Thorin’s wish of leaving Guadosalam without encountering trouble was not to be. This was Thranduil’s domain, and he wasn’t about to let Thorin’s presence go unnoticed, or so it seemed to Bilbo when a brown-haired elf appeared and said that they were requested at the Manse. It felt more like they were required at the Manse. There was some history there that Bilbo wondered about, remembering how Thorin and Thranduil spoke to each other. It was yet another thing that he didn’t think he could safely ask about. In any case, he was about to get an answer.

So Thorin grumbled, but in the end he let the elf lead them into the Manse. The elf brought them to a wide reception room, furnished only with tables stacked high with food. Bilbo’s hand was halfway to a particularly tempting fruit before he remembered that they had not been invited to eat anything, and it would be poor manners to just dig in. Of course, by Shire standards this display without an invitation was itself extremely poor manners, but the ways of Elves were surely different. Even after Fili and Kili decided that the food was clearly for them, he held himself back. Thorin’s behavior had to be his guide here, and Thorin wasn’t even looking at the food. Balin and Dwalin were similarly restrained, though Gandalf took the liberty of lighting his pipe in one of the wall torches.

When Thranduil finally appeared, he swept into the room with an almost alien grace. It took Bilbo a moment to register that his son was behind him, so focused was he on the eerie quality of Thranduil’s movements. Thranduil himself seemed to barely take notice of the boy, waving his hand at Legolas absently.

“Go entertain Summoner Thorin’s Guardians while we talk,” he instructed the younger elf, and Bilbo’s heart sank. If their conversation was going to be private, he couldn’t exactly surreptitiously overhear anything. Or so he thought.

Legolas seemed uncomfortable playing the host to a bunch of dwarves, though he was polite enough to Gandalf. As it happened, Legolas could not easily drown out what was happening on the other side of the room. Thranduil began quietly enough, and Thorin seemed content to listen to him, and when Thranduil finished, Thorin was silent for a moment. Then he erupted in shouts, some comprehensible and some less so, though it was obvious enough that he was being rather insulting, and elves started pouring out of doors Bilbo hadn’t even noticed, pointing weapons at them.

“Well, well,” Thranduil said, his eyebrows slightly raised in what passed for surprise. “To threaten another summoner goes against the teachings of Yevon. Surely you know the punishment for that?”

Thorin’s expression might as well have been carved from stone. “I made no threats that were not deserved given the provocation.”

“Deserved or not, this cannot go unreported to Yevon,” Thranduil told him. “Especially not when one of your Guardians has been heard profaning the sacred places. The validity of your pilgrimage is called into question by such behavior.”

Bilbo’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. The dwarves were in a precarious position already; had he made it worse? Had he given Thorin’s enemies an opening to attack him?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gandalf said suddenly, drawing all eyes to him. “Profaning the sacred places? I’ve certainly heard none of that. Bilbo here was merely afflicted by Sin’s toxin for a time, and asking necessary questions to reorient himself. And none of the others have been so careless, save in answering those entirely necessary questions.”

For the first time, Thranduil’s expression wavered, creating the impression that he was uncertain. “Mithrandir,” he said, addressing Gandalf. “Even if that is true, and certainly your word is not to be doubted, there is still the matter of the threats made against my person.”

“Perhaps the matter would be best overlooked, when one considers that we were brought here under guard, knowing full well that summoners have no authority over other summoners,” Gandalf replied, raising an eyebrow. “If you were a maester of Yevon, things might be different, but between you and Thorin, there is no difference in rank.”

Something flickered in Thranduil’s eyes, and Bilbo was briefly reminded of a viper preparing to strike. Then it was gone, so quickly that he must have imagined it. “Consider my offer, Summoner Thorin,” Thranduil finally said, turning back to Thorin.

“I will give it as much consideration as you gave my guardian who was attacked by Sin,” Thorin replied coldly, turning his back on the other summoner.

“You should not be so quick to spurn potential allies, the way your grandfather did,” Thranduil observed smoothly. Bilbo saw veins in Thorin’s neck popping out as he struggled to stay in control.

“My grandfather died an honorable death, fighting Sin,” Thorin spat. “You have no right to speak of him.”

Bilbo was honestly amazed when they emerged from the manse without further trouble. The guards eyed them warily, but didn’t impede their progress, so they fled Guadosalam as fast as they could. Fili and Kili didn’t even murmur complaints about not staying at the inn.

Gandalf led them into a tunnel, and when they emerged, Bilbo was ready to turn right back around. The wizard had made it sound like Guadosalam and Macalania woods were directly adjacent, but apparently a dark, stormy plain lay in between. As they lingered in the shelter of the tunnel, Bilbo saw lightning strike nearby several times, despite the tall towers littering the plain. With all of their weapons and armor, the dwarves would be walking lightning rods if those towers weren’t doing much to draw the lightning off. 

“Stay close to the towers,” Gandalf advised. “Not too close, but they do still work at drawing off the lightning if you don’t stray too far. I will do what I can to lessen the damage, but it would be best if we avoided being struck altogether.”

The dwarves all nodded solemnly, much to Bilbo’s astonishment. “Wait a second,” he protested. “We’re just going to go out there and hope we don’t get hit? Why not wait until the storm passes?”

“The storms of the Thunder Plains never cease,” Balin advised him. “They are the only way forward, so we must press on and hope for the best. It is as much a trial for a summoner as the temples.”

Bilbo pursed his lips, but Thorin had already stepped out of the tunnel and onto the plain, so he knew there was no point in arguing. Still, he stuck close to Gandalf and the lightning rod towers. He felt a little ashamed of his cowardice, but lightning was not a trivial enemy. There were two main causes of fire in the Shire: careless hobbits and their cook fires, and lightning strikes. A little caution was justified, he felt. At least Kili looked a little less reckless than usual, jumping whenever lightning struck nearby. He was the dwarf Bilbo would have been worried about wandering off and getting struck, but he kept close to his brother.

“Our mother has an agency here,” Fili admitted to Bilbo. “Kili never did like this one.”

“At least it’s safer in there than it is out here,” Kili grumbled. “How do the fiends survive here? Dodging lightning bolts while fighting fiends has got to be against some kind of rule.”

“What kind of rule would that be?” Thorin asked, eyebrow raised in amusement. “The pilgrimage is supposed to test the summoner and their guardians.”

Kili mumbled something unintelligible.

“Putting that aside for the moment,” Balin interjected. “What did Thranduil say?”

Thorin’s expression clouded over. “He proposed quitting his own pilgrimage and putting his resources toward aiding mine, in exchange for some treasure that Sin trapped in the mountain,” he practically growled. “If I passed his words on to the Maesters, it would be he getting dragged in for questioning.”

“Really?” Bilbo asked. “Why? Helping another summoner can’t be a bad thing, can it?”

“It’s not that,” Dwalin answered roughly. “Giving up a pilgrimage in exchange for wealth-”

“Very strongly frowned upon,” Balin agreed. “It’s like bribing your fellow summoners to quit. What if you then fail to defeat Sin? The consequences could be dire.”

“Summoners who have quit cannot journey again,” Thorin said grimly. “Quitting means excommunication. Accepting a bribe is the same. There would be no summoners left to fight Sin.” His eyes never left Bilbo’s face during this explanation. This happened so often, as if he was gauging Bilbo’s reaction, that he was almost used to it. By now, it was just the cold rain that made it seem like his cheeks were warm.

“So what he suggested could have jeopardized both of your pilgrimages,” Bilbo observed, determinedly not breaking eye contact. “No wonder you were so angry.”

Some of the tension seemed to leak out of Thorin at these words, though it was back when Balin clucked his tongue. “You let him goad you into that,” he scolded. “Now, if he retaliates, he will have Yevon’s support.”

“He will lose it the second I tell them what he proposed,” Thorin insisted, though he sounded less sure of himself now.

A bolt of lightning striking near enough to make their hair stand up put an end to that conversation, as they found that maybe moving a little faster would be in their best interests. The fiends themselves provided an answer to Kili’s earlier question, when one was struck by lightning and went into a berserk rage. Only a well-placed strike from Dwalin on the back of its’ neck prevented the fiend from goring Bilbo as he tried to steal from it.

It was with visible relief that they reached the Travel Agency, nestled at roughly the halfway point between Guadosalam and Macalania Woods, or so Fili assured them. Thorin was in favor of pushing on without stopping at the Agency, as there was still daylight left (though how he knew with the permanent darkness of the storm, Bilbo couldn’t tell), but Gandalf pointed out that that would leave them camping on the plains, or walking through the night to reach the safety of the woods. 

“Would it be safe, do you think, to camp on the plains?” Bilbo asked, hoping he didn’t sound like he was whining. 

“Standing still on the plains is always a bad idea,” Balin replied, shaking his head. “We would not be very tall targets, but we would be immobile ones.”

“Bad idea,” Dwalin agreed, with an apologetic shrug at Thorin.

Thorin didn’t push the issue, though there was a noticeable tightness to his jaw when they entered the agency. Dís wasn’t there, which did a lot for loosening Thorin’s jaw back up, though the dwarf working the counter assured them that she would probably still be at the Macalania Lake agency when they made it up there. 

Fili and Kili retired to bed first, Kili’s usual boundless energy exhausted by being in a place he hated. Gandalf went next, claiming that an old man needs all the sleep he can get, not that anyone questioned him. Balin made a similar excuse not long after, and Dwalin made no excuse, though he and Thorin exchanged a look before he left. That left Bilbo and Thorin, sipping warm drinks in silence. There was no point to this, Bilbo knew. Their silence was hardly companionable, as Thorin’s demeanor still strongly resembled the thunder clouds overhead. He should just go to sleep, even if he didn’t feel up to it yet.

Bilbo sighed and took another sip of his tea. He should go to bed, but there was something about the way Thorin was sitting, shoulders high and tight, his arms folded in and his cup of tea held close, that made him want to stay. Perhaps he sensed another rare moment of vulnerability coming on, if only he could outlast Thorin’s stubbornness. Perhaps it felt like the time to actually do what Dís had asked him to do, if he could just work up the courage. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. He was here, in a contest of who could stay awake longer with a dwarf who seemed to be fueled by pure pig-headedness. If defeating Sin were merely a contest of wills, Thorin would be High Summoner without any trouble.

Bilbo set down his cup. Maybe now would be a good time to ask about something innocuous, just to get Thorin talking. If not, he could always just go to bed, and save himself more waiting.

“I’ve been wondering,” he began, and Thorin’s eyes immediately snapped in his direction.

“What?” 

It was like he’d been waiting as impatiently as Bilbo. He could almost laugh. Did he look like he needed to talk too?

“Well, I guess I just wondered about your healing magic,” he finished lamely. He had wondered, but it was hardly the most burning question in his mind. “From what I’ve seen so far, it looks like most people specialize in something, but you heal, fight with a sword, and summon.”

Thorin’s shoulders relaxed, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile, as if to say, ‘this is what you wanted to ask?’ “It is unusual,” he agreed. “Summoners generally practice magic to build their reserves for summoning. Useless in the end, but it’s encouraged. I thought if I learned offensive magic, I would neglect my sword training and become dependant on the magic.”

It was a very Thorinish reason, somehow. He had high standards for everyone, including himself. If learning offensive magic would cause him to fall below those standards, then that magic was unnecessary. With that in mind, it seemed strange that he hadn’t tried to send Bilbo away yet. True, his stealing had proven useful, and he did his best not to hold them all back in battle, but he just didn’t have the arm strength to do real harm. He was getting there, but he’d certainly never stack up even to Kili.

Those thoughts depressed him, and he found himself gazing into the dregs of his tea, grasping the sides of the cup loosely.

“Are you tired?” Thorin asked, his forehead wrinkled in concern.

“No, I-” Bilbo sighed irritably. “I just feel bad. I’m not a fighter, never have been. I’m slowing you down.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he studied Bilbo’s face. “You are not a warrior,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. “And you have been lost ever since Sin ripped you from your home. But your aim is good. You render Fili’s cooking palatable. We don’t have to waste gil on potions. It may not be wise to take you to Zanarkand, but…” Thorin looked away for a moment, apparently thinking better of what he was going to say.

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, but Thorin silenced him by raising a hand.

“I considered sending you home once, but your home is the Calm Lands,” Thorin pointed out. “If you wish to leave when we get there, no one will stop you. My offer from Luca still stands.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” Bilbo protested. “You… do you still believe that I’m really from the Shire?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s face.

“Why?” Bilbo asked. “Even saying so is apparently heresy.”

Thorin didn’t answer, and they sat in silence until Bilbo decided to give up the battle of wills, and go to bed. Realistically, he knew the answer. Thorin was a summoner. He, more than anyone, saw the destruction caused by Sin. He, more than anyone, would want to believe that maybe there was more to that destruction, even if all the evidence pointed against it. Because Thorin was pig-headed to a fault. An optimist, in a world that didn’t reward optimism in the slightest.

Still, it was nice to be believed, and to have a place in this increasingly familiar world. It was nice that even if the dwarves didn’t necessarily need him, whatever Gandalf might claim, at least their leader had decided he was welcome. It felt so long ago now that Thorin had told him on the boat ride to Luca that as long as he made himself useful, he could stay.

Bilbo reached his bed, but found that he couldn’t fall asleep. New questions arose in his mind, questions that he had no business thinking. What if he did have a home? What if the Shire wasn’t destroyed? Would the dwarves make him leave then? Would he still be welcome if his warm hearth was in fact waiting for him? How different would circumstances have been if they had believed the Shire was intact in the first place? Would he have come on this journey at all, or been left to get home for himself?

He shook his head irritably, and rolled over. There was no point in ‘what ifs.’ He was here now, and that was how it was going to stay for now. When they got to the Calm Lands, there would be decisions to make, that was all. And, if Thorin decided that Bilbo was no longer welcome, well, he would just have to deal with that, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as if he enjoyed risking his life on a daily basis. The adrenaline rush was nice enough he supposed, but what use was an adventure if you didn’t live to tell anyone about it? Then you were just a cautionary tale, like the failed summoners.

Or his mother.

Bilbo drew his blanket around himself tightly. He’d been saved by Thorin and his Guardians, whatever they secretly felt about having a hobbit in tow. So if there really was no home or family waiting for him, he owed it to them to help save their home from Sin, so at least they would have one. Gandalf and Dís both seemed to think he could do something, so maybe he really could.

It still took him a long time to fall asleep, piercing blue eyes haunting him, and he couldn’t say who they belonged to.


	10. The Silent Woods

The Thunder Plains were no less stormy in the morning (not that they could tell the time of day), much to Bilbo’s disappointment. He hadn’t really believed it when he’d been told that the storms never stopped, but at least with a good nights sleep, the party was up for jogging the rest of the way across the plains to get away from the lightning faster.

Bilbo had been looking forward to a good old fashioned forest, as the closest they’d come so far was the smattering of trees near the Moonflow, and the jungle of Kilika really didn’t feel the same. As Macalania woods loomed closer and closer, he realized that he wasn’t going to get that wish. The temperature dropped noticeably as they approached, and the trees shone, as if they were made of crystal. On closer inspection, they looked less like trees, and more like ice sculptures of trees, though they weren’t freezing to the touch. The constant storms of the Thunder Plains aside, it had to be one of the strangest environments he’d ever seen.

“The power of the Fayth at Macalania Temple is strong here,” Gandalf observed. “That is why some call this area Mirkwood: these woods have an unnatural feeling about them.”

Surrounded by the glistening trees, it didn’t seem apt. For all that it was strange, this was a place of light and beauty. It didn’t seem to match the mustiness of Guadosalam.

“This area is home to powerful fiends,” Thorin pointed out, breaking Bilbo out of his awed reverie. “The environment causes some of the springs to crystallize, forming Spheres, and fiends are drawn to Spheres.”

Bilbo remembered the Sphere Screens in Luca, displaying images of the tournament. Balin had explained later that Spheres came in other forms, some of which could record messages to be played back later. “Why are fiends drawn to Spheres?” he asked curiously, nevertheless drawing closer to the group to avoid said fiends.

“No one really knows, but some say they know the Spheres contain people’s memories, based on their own human memories, and as they long to be human again…” Fili trailed off.

“But we don’t have any spheres, so we should be fine,” Kili declared confidently. “Or, well, as fine as we usually are.”

With those comforting words uttered, they set off into the woods, Gandalf leading the way. The fiends here were stronger, as their first ambush proved, but Bilbo was determined to improve with a sword, so he didn’t hang back and let the others handle it. He needed Thorin to patch him up more than usual, but he did manage to avoid being gored. So that was something.

When they weren’t being attacked by fiends, Bilbo was nearly hypnotized by the wood. It wasn’t a normal forest, but really, why had he wanted one in the first place? Surrounded by such ethereal beauty, he couldn’t remember. No one in the Shire would ever believe him if he said that he’d gone for a walk in a forest of crystal trees, and he kind of liked it that way. When he found it in him to look away from the trees, he realized that Thorin had been watching him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” Bilbo asked, flushing a little at having been observed.

“Dwarves are craftsmen,” Thorin said, as if that was an explanation. “I wondered if we could match these trees with crystal. I’ve never thought about it before.”

“You mean carve your own trees out of crystal?” Bilbo asked curiously. “Even if they didn’t match, I’m sure they would be lovely.”

“You would like to see them?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo was a little taken aback. Had he misunderstood something? He certainly hadn’t meant to ask anything of Thorin. But…

“I would, if you ever got around to trying. I’m sure they would be quite a sight, even if they didn’t look like these trees. After the pilgrimage, of course,” Bilbo finished hastily.

For some reason, Thorin frowned at this, and said nothing, giving only terse responses to everyone for a while after that. It seemed a little strange to Bilbo, but everyone else shared knowing looks. Thorin could always fail to defeat Sin, Bilbo supposed. If it were easy, everyone would do it. Maybe he just didn’t want to get his hopes up, after his father and grandfather both failed to do it. Deciding on that, Bilbo stopped questioning Thorin’s mood. He had a right to his nerves, even if it was wrong of him to take them out on others.

Gandalf found a clearing across from a spring, and declaring it safe enough, they made camp. The silence after dinner was deafening, so Bilbo decided to bite the bullet, and be the one to initiate conversation.

“Gandalf, do you know much about the fayth at this temple?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, all eyes suddenly on him. It was something he’d been curious about anyway. It would be nice to compile some sort of history, for when he got back to the Shire.

“A little,” Gandalf admitted, though what he considered a little was probably quite a lot. “She was meant to be the Queen of her people, of a kingdom long since lost. Her cousin longed to be king, and he forced her to marry him. He was an evil man, and eventually, Sin appeared and destroyed the kingdom.”

“That incident is one of the reasons why it is said that repenting our sins will make Sin go away,” Balin concluded. “They believe Sin appeared to punish the wickedness of that land, and its’ king.”

“But what about the Queen?” Bilbo asked. “She was forced into it.”

“She gave her soul to Yevon, as thanks for freeing her, or so they say,” Balin replied.

“Her reasons are her own,” Thorin said, breaking his terse silence. “It is not our place to question the fayth.”

“They say the frozen Macalania Lake covers where her kingdom used to be,” Kili told him, wiggling his fingers as if to imply it was haunted.

Fili slapped him lightly on the back. “But if that’s true, doesn’t it mean she tried to save her kingdom, despite everything that had happened?”

“She was a queen,” Dwalin said, poking one of logs in the fire with a stick. “That’s what queens do.”

Bilbo dreamed of a great wave, rising far above the horizon. He knew it would engulf everything it its’ path, and leave no survivors. His dream self ran for high ground, trying to do something, anything to stop the wave. He begged, pleaded with an unseen being, and then everything went dark. He woke in a cold sweat, shivering and wondering if there was anything anyone could have done.

* * *

 

In the morning, it wasn’t long before Gandalf started leading them off the path without explanation. Bilbo saw the dwarves exchanging looks, and opened his mouth to question it, but the sound of heavy footsteps behind them stopped him. Looking back, he couldn’t see much, the way obscured by the crystalline trees, and he looked to Thorin for permission to scout.

Thorin nodded. “Check if we’re being followed.”

Gandalf and the dwarves arranged themselves to be completely hidden from the path, stuffing their packs, weapons and extra layers of clothing into and under the trees. Then they flattened themselves onto the ground behind some crystalline bushes, and Bilbo took that as his cue that they were ready in case he accidently attracted attention. Stepping only on the balls of his feet, Bilbo crept back toward the path, using the thicker growths as cover. One wrong step, and his foot would be pierced by a crystallized weed. Hardly a desirable outcome for numerous reasons.

Once he was near enough to see properly, he got down on all fours and watched from behind a bush. Warrior monks were marching two by two, as the path wasn’t wide enough to accommodate more at a time. That in itself wasn’t too unusual, as Gandalf had mentioned that you could get to Bevelle from these woods, and that would be their next destination. But they were heading in the direction of Macalania Temple, and Bilbo wondered if perhaps Thranduil had reported him after all.

Slowly, carefully, he edged back from the bush, back toward the safety of the company. The dwarves were waiting restlessly, Fili and Kili nearly pouncing on him when he emerged into their little clearing.

“So?” Thorin demanded impatiently.

“Give me a moment,” Bilbo protested, disentangling himself from the younger dwarves. “There are warrior monks out there, and it looks like they’re heading for the temple. They weren’t talking, so I don’t know why, but it’s as good a guess as any that Thranduil reported me.”

Thorin swore. Then he turned on Gandalf. “You knew,” he accused him.

“I guessed,” Gandalf corrected him. “Summoner Thranduil could not get word to Bevelle any sooner than this, and Macalania Woods give us the best chance to hide. Also, there is something further ahead that I wanted Bilbo to have, so we are killing two birds with one stone.”

Thorin ground his teeth but let it go. “What could be in the woods that you want to give Bilbo?” he asked instead, eyebrows raised.

“We will be there soon, and out of the woods soon after, so be patient,” was all Gandalf would say.

Their movements were slower now that they were off the path, forced into walking in single file, every step taken carefully. Every time one of the dwarves stepped on a crystallized plant, it would shatter into tiny shards, and they would all freeze, hoping the warrior monks hadn’t heard it. Then, if the dwarf had been in front of Bilbo, he would have to surrender his dignity and let one of them lift him over the spot. The shards covered too wide an area for him to jump, and the foliage around them was thick enough that he couldn’t go around. Trying to just step over the shards the first time had sliced his foot open, despite the rather thick skin, and after letting Thorin patch him up it was decided that this was what he got for going barefoot. Thereafter, he had to suffer being carried. None of the dwarves claimed to mind, though Dwalin gave him a smirk whenever it was his turn, and Thorin practically threw him across the spot, but still. He had his pride.

Finally, Gandalf brought them to a halt. “It should be somewhere around here,” he muttered. “Though there are trees here that weren’t here last time.”

“Gandalf,” Thorin said, a warning in his voice.

“Ah, here we are!” Gandalf exclaimed, ignoring Thorin’s mounting irritation. With a few well placed strikes from his staff, one of the trees broke apart into neat slices, allowing Gandalf to slip behind it and vanish for a moment. He emerged with crystal shards littering his clothes, and held something shiny.

“A sphere?” Kili asked curiously and Gandalf handed it over.

Bilbo turned it over in his hands, having never seen one before. Somehow, the way the light swirled under the surface was even more hypnotic than the glittering trees. What could possibly be recorded in it?

“Don’t watch it now,” Gandalf said sharply. “We have already lingered too long. The fiends will smell it and come running. We must make haste out of the woods.”

The dwarves complied eagerly enough, though Bilbo caught Thorin muttering to Dwalin, “Finally, he says something I can agree with.”

* * *

 

The sun was high when they emerged from the woods onto the frozen tundra. It wasn’t a gradual transition, a slow thinning of trees that eventually gave way to bare ground. One moment the trees were thick around them, and then they were gone, along with the gentle breezes of the woods. That breeze had been replaced by a fabric piercing wind that howled fiercely through the snow covered ravines and set Bilbo to shivering almost immediately. He was painfully aware that he was dressed for a Shire summer, and it had been a while since it was last cold enough to trouble his bare feet.

“Mother’s Agency is close,” Kili assured him.

“She should have spare winter clothes for sale,” Fili agreed. His fur seemed so much more practical now. “Most people who come this way don’t really expect it to be this cold this quickly.”

Bilbo just nodded along, his teeth chattering too hard for him to give a proper response. Still, they kept trying to get him to talk, perhaps foolishly thinking that would make him warmer. Eventually, he was forced to try and stutter out something just to get them off his back, and he was barely halfway through the second word before a warm weight engulfed him. He reached out his frozen fingers, and found thick fur fringes that told him exactly whose coat was swallowing him: Thorin’s.

“T-t-t-that’s q-q-quite unnecessary,” Bilbo insisted thickly, removing the coat with frozen fingers and pressing it into Thorin’s chest. The shock of warmth almost made him drop it: Thorin was radiating heat like a furnace.

“I will survive until we reach the Agency. You may not,” Thorin replied shortly, pushing past him without taking the coat.

Given the choice between his pride and freezing to death, Bilbo had always been the practical sort. Having tried to return the coat and been refused, there was no reason not to wear it. It was too long in the arms, dragged on the ground, and heavier than anything he would have chosen for himself, but oh was it warm. Thorin’s residual warmth and the fur combined to almost make him forget the bitter chill in the air. So swaddled, he could more properly appreciate the scenery of Macalania Lake, and the sparkling woods behind them. It reminded him a little of the winter that the river had frozen over, allowing wolves to cross and terrorize the Shire. The fiends scrabbling about on the ice did nothing to dispel that notion, and he looked away with a shiver.

Still, there had only been fiends on the ice, with no sign of the warrior monks from earlier. Were they still in the woods, waiting in ambush? Or had they gone on to the temple? Maybe they were waiting in the Travel Agency. Did he have the right to a trial in this world? What would happen to Thorin’s pilgrimage if the stain of heresy was attached to it?

Bilbo shook his head fiercely, almost dislodging Thorin’s coat from his shoulders. No, he wouldn’t waste time on those kinds of thoughts. There was no sign of the soldiers, not even boot prints in the snow. It was a waste of energy to contemplate such gloomy ‘what ifs’.

Dís was waiting for them outside the Agency, her glare almost enough to stop the company in their tracks. From the looks Fili and Kili exchanged, Bilbo could guess their thoughts: what did we do?

“THORIN! What in Yevon’s name are you doing without a jacket in this-” she stopped herself as she scanned the scene, comprehension and then slyness dawning in her eyes. Bilbo’s cheeks felt warm under her gaze, and he hoped the cold made it hard to tell that he was blushing. “Well, nevermind that, get inside quickly.”

The fireplace was roaring inside the Agency, allowing Bilbo to give Thorin his coat back quickly without freezing himself. He discovered after handing it off that ice crystals had nestled into the hair on his unprotected feet, and so his first viewing of the sphere was huddled close to the fire with some tea.

The images in the sphere were badly degraded, as if the sphere itself had been damaged in the intervening years. But even an indistinct image was enough when he saw the woman sitting in front of the sphere, recording. His mother smiled at him wearily, as if she could really see him across time.

“My dear Bilbo,” she began, shaking her head lightly. “If I know Gandalf, one day you will join me here. If I know myself, I will already be gone by then, and I wanted to leave you a little something to perk up your courage. It’s never been lacking, but sometimes you just need a little push.”

She brushed back her curls with an absent hand, the gesture so familiar that Bilbo felt warmth spring up at the corners of his eyes.

“Spira must seem so violent and alien to your eyes, and I suppose it is,” she continued wryly. “You might be tempted to think there’s no place for you here, or for any hobbit, given our fondness for home and hearth. How could we survive in a world where so much bad has happened?”

In his heart, Bilbo already knew the answer. “We didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” Belladonna agreed, as if she could hear him. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no place for us in this world. Whoever Gandalf has sent you to is going to need that Hobbity good sense that your father gave you, as well as a healthy dose of my courage. With those gifts, maybe-” she cut herself off, looking to someone who was out of frame.

Belladonna shook her head. “Everyone in Spira longs to be safe and home, my dear Bilbo,” she said instead. “Remember that. They are no more natural adventurers than you. I have to go now, and continue my journey. If I succeed, you’ll never need to see this. Yet somehow, I hope you see it anyway. I love you, my dear, dear boy.”

Bilbo tucked the sphere away in his pack, wiping tears from his eyes hastily. It had been nearly 7 years since he’d heard his mother’s voice, and thanks to the magic of spheres, there she was. And there she would be, until the quality degraded too far for her to be understood. What had she been doing in Spira, that she was so sure that her death was inevitable enough to leave him this sphere? It was practically a will.

His heart clenched as he wondered if maybe his mother had the talent for summoning. Had that been what Gandalf meant? He hadn’t been fast enough to stop her from embarking on a pilgrimage that had apparently led to her death? Or maybe that he hadn’t been fast enough to save her from whatever had killed her? The summoners path made too much sense. With her husband dead and her son grown, she’d wanted one last adventure, and saving the world fit the bill nicely.

Gandalf had already shown a certain unwillingness to talk about it, and Bilbo doubted that pressing him would be worth the effort. That left one other person who he knew had met his mother in Spira: Thorin.


	11. The Frozen Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore I was going to stick to once a week updates, and then I backslid. Sorry! The next few chapters needed a lot of editing, and we're coming up on the really exciting parts. In any case, don't worry, I haven't forgotten this fic.

For all that Bilbo had decided he was going to talk to Thorin about his mother, he found himself unwilling to broach the subject at the moment. Everyone else was still around of course, but also it seemed like whenever they were under his sister’s roof, a weight settled onto Thorin’s shoulders. He would sit further from everyone, his arms crossed, his chin tucked in, looking lost in thought and slightly stormy. Even Dwalin looked more approachable at the moment, chatting amicably with Dís while she piled winter clothes on him in a mad search for something that would fit Bilbo. Still, the others were absorbed in their own affairs, probably knowing better than to bother Thorin when he was in a mood. Even the handful of other customers were doing their best not to stare at the grumpy summoner.

Bilbo turned the sphere over in his hands absently. Thorin’s mood notwithstanding, this was probably the best chance he was going to get. He wasn’t afraid of the wrath of a puffed up dwarf lord. He was almost to the Calm Lands now, or so they said. He could probably make it the rest of the way on his own if he had to.

Steeling himself for dwarf steel, Bilbo crossed the room in a few quick strides, sitting down across from Thorin as if he’d been invited. A sharp glare immediately lashed out at him, but it softened after he weathered it for a few moments. Thorin didn’t say anything, or invite him to speak, but he took out a match and lit his pipe, offering the lit match to Bilbo afterward.

“Is everything… okay?” Bilbo asked, putting aside his concerns about his mother for the moment.

Thorin was silent for a long moment, the only sounds their steady inhales and exhales as they smoked their pipes. “Every step brings us closer to Zanarkand,” he said finally. “Closer to the final aeon. Closer to Sin.”

“That’s… good right?” Bilbo prompted him.

“No dwarf has slain Sin since Durin IV,” Thorin told him, not really looking at him as he spoke. “Not even the other dwarf fathers.”

“I’ve been wondering this for some time, but why do they all have the same name?” Bilbo asked curiously, hoping to break some of the tension. Why was Thorin journeying if he didn’t think he could win?

Thorin actually chuckled, despite his dark mood. “The dwarves believe that they are all descended from one of the seven dwarf fathers,” he explained. “We also believe the dwarf fathers are periodically reincarnated with all of their memories intact, and take the same name.”

Bilbo rubbed his chin as he mulled this over. If true, how would Durin V becoming a fayth affect the cycle of reincarnation? It had to in some way, right? And why hadn’t Thorin accused him of changing the subject?

“No dwarf has been high summoner since Durin V became a fayth, is that it?” Bilbo said finally. “Durin’s not the only dwarf to ever be high summoner though, is he?”

“No,” Thorin allowed. “Only the reincarnated seven dwarf fathers have been high summoners.”

Bilbo tapped a finger on his cheek. “Only them?”

Thorin nodded, taking another deep drag from his pipe.

Bilbo chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He’d never seen Thorin truly doubt himself before, but suddenly it made sense. He was trying to do something that history told him he couldn’t do. “You think you’re going to fail,” he said quietly, setting down his own pipe.

Thorin, for his part, gave no sign that he’d even heard, so apparently he was done airing his concerns to an outsider. So be it. There was more to the story than Thorin was saying, but Thorin’s walls were back up, and once he decided to enforce them, there was nothing to be done. Maybe he could ask Balin about the reincarnating dwarf fathers later, as it had piqued his interest, though he couldn’t quite say why. It almost felt like Thorin was leading him toward some idea, and then thought better of it.

“I have another question for you,” Bilbo told him with a heavy sigh, and Thorin shot him a sharp look. “About my mother,” he added, and the sharpness abruptly faded.

“There is little to tell,” Thorin replied, suddenly refusing to make eye contact. “Gandalf would know more.”

“Was she a summoner?” Bilbo demanded, done beating around the bush. “Did she die on a pilgrimage?”

Thorin met his gaze then, his eyes assessing. “You may regret this,” he warned. “I have no skill at softening the truth.”

“Tell me!” Bilbo insisted, realizing only after he sat back down that he was standing and shouting loud enough for the whole Agency to hear.

“She was,” Thorin said at last. “She was last seen climbing Mt. Gagazet with her guardians. They were never seen again.”

It was like a hammer had struck his chest. Oh, he had suspected as much, but how could she have been so foolish? This wasn’t their world, their home! Why risk everything for it? After seeing the statues in the temples, she had probably decided that all they were missing was a hobbit high summoner, and why not her? One last adventure for Belladonna Took and her sisters. It was exactly her kind of foolishness.

“Why?” he whispered, feeling hot tears threaten at the corners of his eyes, though he fought them back.

“You still know nothing of this world,” Thorin told him, his tone harsher than Bilbo would have expected. But then, Thorin had lost family members to the exact same thing. It was likely a noble death in his eyes, and here Bilbo was questioning its’ value.

If only he could have known that Thorin meant something else entirely.

* * *

 

“You have to tell him,” Balin insisted in a harsh whisper.

After Bilbo’s unpleasant discovery about his mother, they had all agreed there was no point in pushing on that day. Sleeping on the ice would be bad for all of them, but Bilbo especially needed a warm bed at the moment. With a significant look at Fili and Kili, they had bundled the hobbit off to bed, and Gandalf had gone out to look for any signs of pursuit. It was no wonder Balin started laying into Thorin the moment he had the chance.

“If the Calm Lands are intact, he doesn’t need to know,” Thorin replied, though he knew it was a weak justification. Dwalin snorted across the room, earning him a glare, which he pointedly ignored.

“You just rebuked him for not knowing, when it is our fault that he does not know!” Balin pointed out, eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

Thorin did not reply, setting his jaw mulishly. Balin sighed. “Thorin, I’ve seen you with him. Even knowing that what happened to him was an anomaly, he still gives you hope. For what, I don’t know, but I think he lets you forget your responsibilities, because they mean nothing to him. The problem is the way you suddenly remember them again, and throw the walls back up.” Balin shook his head. “Bilbo deserves to know why. Especially when it is something that all of Spira knows, almost from the moment they are born.”

Thorin opened his mouth to object, but Balin just shook his head.

“The lads are fond of him too, you know. He listens to me ramble, and I think even my brother doesn’t mind him anymore,” Balin continued. “Wait until the morning. I think we will find that he handles what you told him tonight better than you expect. You’ll see. And then tell him the rest of the truth.”

Thorin ran his fingers through his hair roughly, biting back a sigh. There was much he wanted to say. He wanted to demand that Balin be explicit about what he was implying, for one, but he was no fool. He was used to cold stares and mocking whispers, even if there hadn’t been many since he officially declared as a summoner. The dwarves were only barely tolerated by Yevon, and being a king of dwarves just meant he earned more negative attention. His walls were as carefully constructed as his people’s ancient homes had been. A well placed glare could keep almost anyone away.

And yet Bilbo would just walk right up to him for a chat when the mood took him. Either he wasn’t at all afraid, or more likely, he simply had no time for a moody king’s pride when he cared to know something and no one nicer was around to provide.

He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched at the thought. He preferred the idea that Bilbo just wasn’t afraid of him, small, soft creature that he was, rather than the idea that Bilbo could tolerate anyone if he needed something from them.

Honestly, he was at least fond of the hobbit (not that he’d be admitting as much to Balin), and wasn’t that just his luck? He could tell himself it was just the idea of Bilbo, the idea of someone who had grown up in a place of peace and plenty, but even a child could see through that. Balin was right, Bilbo did give him hope. A faint, useless hope. He was too old, and too doomed for this. There could be no happy ending here. He had to nip this in the bud, and doing what Balin suggested was the fastest way to do that.

“I’ll tell him,” Thorin finally agreed. “After Macalania Temple.”

“Thorin…” Balin began, disapproval heavy in his voice.

“After Macalania, if he wants to leave and go straight to the Calm Lands, it can be easily done,” Thorin pointed out. “The road branches in the woods, and it’s close enough that he could make it on his own.”

Balin muttered something about rock-headed idiots, but finally dropped the subject.

* * *

 

The morning dawned bright and chilly, but in his new winter clothes, Bilbo felt only a pleasant breeze. It was a little hard watching Dís fuss over her boys, looking particularly maternal as she wrapped a scarf around Kili, but it also made him smile. This world might have taken his mother from him, but Fili and Kili at least still had theirs. And he was an adult, after all. It would have happened someday soon in any case, Sin or no Sin.

Dís came to him next, fussing over how he had put on his coat and scarf just as insistently as she had for Fili and Kili. It surprised him a little, until she used the cover to pass him something. His gloved hands were clumsy as he accepted it, but he knew the feel of a book.

“What is-” he began, and Dís clapped a hand over his mouth.

“A bit of bedtime reading,” she interrupted with a wink. “I know it must be hard to sleep, considering what kind of dreams you’ll be likely to have. My brothers and I had similar dreams for a very long time. This should be boring enough to make things a little easier.”

Bilbo examined the book. It was not new exactly, judging by wrinkles on the cover, but the pages themselves looked nearly untouched. The title gave him a clue as to why: “A Brief History of the Line of Durin,” shone out at him in gold embossed letters. History books were always being moved about, without ever being opened for more than a brief glance.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she advised him, lowering her voice. “If you asked Balin, he would go on for days about the glories of our ancestors, without telling you anything useful. I translated this book myself, so I know it will do a better job. In case you get curious,” she added quickly, though it was too late for that: she had obviously heard most of his conversation with Thorin.

“Thank you,” he said instead, bowing politely. “I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to read it if it needs to be kept a secret, but I am grateful all the same.”

Dís quirked a smile. “If you’re going to protect my brother, you need to know where his delusions of grandeur come from,” she replied quietly, still smiling. “They are always warring with his less secure side, the side that makes him want to talk to you when he won’t talk to anyone else.”

He wanted to ask her about that. As a king and a summoner, could Thorin really have delusions of grandeur? No matter how you looked at it, he was important to Spira. But Dwalin was already dragging him away from the Agency, and all he could do was watch Dís wave as she slowly disappeared on the other side of the ice.

Eventually, he tired of being dragged by the burly dwarf, but couldn’t regain his feet while being dragged, so he very politely insisted that he be released immediately. Or at least that was how it must have sounded to Dwalin, considering that he didn’t seem offended by Bilbo being a little snappish.

Getting his wish, he still trailed behind the others, studying the ice beneath his feet. It was probably the thickest sheet he had ever seen, that much was clear. He heard no cracking or popping, all characteristic signs that ice couldn’t carry his weight. Then again, even in his new, warm coat, it was very, very cold. The fayth at Macalania Temple must be more powerful than all the others they had approached so far, he realized. She must be, to leak so much of her element. Was that why Thorin was worried that he was going to fail?

He looked down again at the ice, squinting harder. Under the ice, there was a destroyed city somewhere, if Gandalf was right. But unlike the other ruins they’d encountered so far, he couldn’t see any sign of these. The ice was too thick, or time had just worn them away.

The clack of nails on the ice brought him back to his senses, and he hurried to catch up with the dwarves. Fiends probably didn’t care if he was just sightseeing, and his bare feet were not very nimble in the ice and snow. As such, he nearly collided with Gandalf when he caught up.

“Steady now, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, catching the hobbit before he could topple over. There was an amused twinkle in his eyes, which meant he wasn’t about to scold Bilbo for wandering off. “Did you see anything interesting?”

“No, and that’s just it,” he admitted, barely noticing that the dwarves had all stopped conversing to listen. “The ice was too thick to see anything. I did hear fiends coming though. It sounded like a lot of them.”

He didn’t miss the way the dwarves all stiffened and exchanged looks. They hadn’t heard anything of the kind, apparently, and there was nothing else visible on the lake. That reaction didn’t seem to surprise Gandalf, though.

“If you didn’t stomp around so, you might have heard it when Bilbo did,” he observed, eyebrows raised. “They’re probably up ahead, where the path narrows into a river. Be cautious.”

Bilbo was placed in his usual spot, next to Thorin at the center of the formation. It still chafed a little that it was as much for his protection as Thorin’s, with the center being the place where he was safest and less likely to throw off their plans. By now, with far more fighting experience than he’d even expected to have, he could at least defend himself. Still insufficient for a guardian, but he was never going to be stronger than a dwarf with years of experience. Not even if he were a guardian for decades.

The fiends took the form of wolves, rushing them almost before they had a chance to react. They were no longer in open air, but in a narrow passageway bisected by a frozen river. He could tell by the way the dwarves were jostling with each other that they didn’t have enough room to swing their swords and axes without taking off each other’s limbs. Kili had drawn his bow and was firing arrow after arrow into the wolves, but they barely seemed to notice it. Thorin also had a bow, but it was much larger than Kili’s and he couldn’t get enough room to draw it.

Bilbo resisted the urge to tick off their misfortunes on his fingers. The long and the short of it was, bunched together as they were, no one could use their weapons effectively, and the wolves were bearing down on them fast. Thorin’s frustration next to him was nearly palpable, and something told him that the summoner was on the verge of doing something incredibly stupid.

His suspicion was confirmed when the wolves reached them, knocking over Fili and Kili and leaving them to grapple with the fiends. His path now clear, Thorin edged out from behind his nephews, drawing his sword as he went. Balin and Dwalin soon had wolves of their own to deal with, and Gandalf remained behind it all, muttering something that Bilbo sincerely hoped was a spell.

Bilbo, meanwhile, did not have a wolf to grapple with. None of the first group had even noticed him, and no more had come through, as Thorin was facing them down alone, further down the path where it was wide enough for him to maneuver and there were no wriggling dwarves. Delusions of grandeur indeed, he thought, suppressing a snort. What business did a summoner have being so thoughtless as to walk into an ambush alone? It was no wonder Dís was afraid for him.

He glanced around again, taking in the scene and biting his lip. Grappling wasn’t the most efficient way of fighting fiends, but none of the dwarves seemed terribly overpowered. They just had no room to move and draw their weapons. Short as his sword was, he couldn’t do much to help them when they were moving so much, and they could probably handle it, given time. Thorin on the other hand…

Shaking his head, Bilbo made up his mind, and eased his way past the dwarves and their wolves with one last look at Gandalf, who was still muttering and holding his staff. Then Bilbo started running, drawing his sword as he ran to catch up to the dwarf he was supposed to be protecting.

In the aftermath, everything was a blur. He remembered running, slipping and sliding as he dashed across the ice. He remembered seeing a wolf move toward Thorin while he was distracted by another one. He didn’t remember making a snowball, but he remembered the gleam in the wolf’s eyes as the ball struck it, and it turned to look at him, one of them finally seeing him.

It was hard to say at the time if he’d actually saved or even helped Thorin, because when the wolf charged him, only to be impaled on his sword by its own momentum, the impact knocked him against the cliffside, and everything went black.


	12. The Last Queen of Numenor

Bilbo’s first thoughts on waking were that ice was warmer than he remembered, and that he must be sleeping through dinner, based on the lovely smells. His stomach being his first priority, he opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Pain like nothing he’d ever felt before shot through his torso, immobilizing him, and he flopped uselessly on the ground like a flipped turtle. At least he was doing so inside, he realized when he saw the ceiling above him. If a fiend were to attack him now, that would be it.

“He’s awake!” Kili shouted, loud enough to make Bilbo’s ears hurt. The young dwarf was leaning over him, his eyes wide with concern. After some rustling of clothes and clomping of boots, Fili, Balin, Dwalin and Gandalf appeared over him as well, looking various degrees of relieved. Thorin wasn’t there.

“Thorin?” he asked, his ribs hurting with the effort of that one word. 

“He hasn’t woken,” Balin replied, his forehead knitted with worry. “The priests expect him to, though.”

“Words we would not be hearing if you hadn’t thought quickly,” Gandalf added, patting Bilbo’s head gently. “The wolves retreated when their leader was killed. We found you unconscious near a fading cluster of pyreflies, with Thorin lying nearby.”

No wonder he hurt so much, Bilbo reflected wryly. He’d been crushed between the wall and the wolf until the wolf had faded, and Thorin wasn’t conscious to patch him up. Still, he tried to sit up, wincing as he did, before Fili put one hand on his arm and another on his back to support him. He gave the lad a grateful nod, and took in his surroundings.

The mention of the priests, as well as the similar architecture, told him that this must be the next temple. It looked similar enough to the others, and he guessed that the food smell was coming from one of the doors ringing the chamber. But something was wrong, something that he struggled to put his finger on as the dwarves resumed whatever conversation he’d interrupted.

“It’s too quiet,” Bilbo realized. “I can’t hear the hymn of the fayth.”

“And there is good reason for that,” Gandalf assured him. “The cold that this fayth puts off is so intense, her chamber of the fayth is actually under the temple, deep in the lake, so that the priests can live here without freezing to death.”

“She really is different,” Fili observed thoughtfully.

“Uncle can handle her,” Kili replied confidently, responding to their silent doubts. Even Durin V hadn’t leaked this much power into the environment.

A door Bilbo hadn’t noticed clattered open, a grumpy and rumpled Thorin staggering out heavily. His sharp eyes quickly found Bilbo, giving him the most unambiguous glare the hobbit had yet received. Thorin was angry at him. Very, very angry. But why?

Seeing that anger, he felt that there were any number of things he could say just then: that he had saved Thorin’s life, that he clearly wasn’t the reckless one under the circumstances, but the anger had only been a flash, to be replaced by a friendlier kind of warmth.

“You are a worthier guardian than I expected,” Thorin admitted. “Using the wolf’s own momentum to compensate for your lack of strength… I did not think you had enough experience to think of that.”

If possible, it was even harder for him to find the words to respond to that. Thorin was smiling at him. It wasn’t a slight upturning of the lips, not the mere suggestion of a smile, which was all he had gotten so far. There was nothing ambiguous here. It was like the sun breaking through the clouds, and he almost felt like he should look away to avoid being blinded.

“I can’t say I blame you for thinking otherwise,” Bilbo finally said. “I have a few useful skills, but I’m not a warrior. Just someone along for the ride, after you found me on that beach. But what if there’s no home waiting for me? You were right. I still don’t know anything about this world. But if I can help you take back your home, and learn a little more about this world in the process, well, it seems the least I can do.”

Bilbo tried to stand, feeling that the words of a man being propped up probably carried less weight, but he collapsed with a gasp of pain. Instead of Fili catching him, Thorin rushed forward, catching Bilbo before he hit the ground and settling him against the wall. He felt the light of Thorin’s magic on him before he was fully against the wall, the pain lessening immediately. He tried to protest: Thorin was probably more injured than he, even with the help the priests had given, but Thorin wouldn’t hear of it. Bilbo looked to Balin and Gandalf, but Balin just shrugged and Gandalf looked faintly amused.

“The strength of his magic affects the strength of his aeons,” Gandalf offered quietly. “Practicing under difficult circumstances could be beneficial… as long as he doesn’t wear himself out with his stubbornness.”

It was easy to see that Thorin’s magic had improved. Bilbo definitely had at least one broken rib, and he could feel the bones knitting back together. Thorin wasn’t even breaking a sweat, though he couldn’t even heal poison back on Mushroom Rock Road. 

Sooner than Bilbo would have expected, Thorin was pulling back, and Bilbo found that he could sit up without pain.

“Do you feel well enough to attempt the cloister?” Balin asked Thorin once he finished, taking him a little aside.

“How much time has passed since the wolf attack?” Thorin asked in response.

Balin let out an exasperated huff. “We lost most of the day,” he admitted. “It would be better to rest, and start out again in the morning.”

Thorin clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond. Bilbo knew now what he must be thinking: ‘another delay.’ And this one was his own fault.

“If it affects your decision,” Gandalf began, not even pretending he hadn’t overheard. “We have already crossed over the cloister of trials. It only activates when you try to leave the temple. So, if Thorin believes he is up to it, he can address the fayth tonight, and handle the cloister tomorrow.”

“Why is it set up differently from the other temples?” Fili asked curiously.

Gandalf hesitated. Bilbo knew he was about to keep something from them. “For that,” he said, “you would have to ask the fayth.”

Thorin snorted. “They are usually the ones asking the questions,” he pointed out, though his eyes kept drifting toward the door to the chamber.

“You might consider asking them a few things,” Gandalf replied cryptically. “The fayth are all connected. They know things that have since been lost from this world. There are many questions now that only they can answer, and old as they are, they are unlikely to be offended simply by asking.”

Bilbo’s curiosity was prickled. Maybe the fayth could tell him what had happened to him when he encountered Sin, though it was taboo for him to enter their chambers. Thorin was already on thin ice with Yevon because of him.

Still, his eyes sought Thorin’s, and the summoner held his gaze for a moment before shrugging.

“We’re already accused of heresy,” Balin pointed out, lips pursed, as he saw the look that passed between them.

“Might as well get arrested on real charges,” Dwalin muttered, crossing his arms. Balin shot him a disapproving look, but said no more. Fili and Kili of course had missed the unspoken part of the conversation, and were looking at the rest of the group in confusion.

Thorin turned back to Gandalf. “The chamber of the fayth is through that door?”

Gandalf nodded. “There is a path of ice going around the bottom of the temple, and the chamber is at the bottom.”

Thorin seemed to reach a decision, the set of his jaw hardening. “Bilbo, with me. Everyone else, watch the door.” He headed for the door without further ado, leaving Bilbo to hurry after him, and hope none of the priests chose to stick their head out at that moment.

Gandalf hadn’t been lying. Beyond the door, the only way down was a narrow, curving path made of ice. It was the only thing standing between them and plunging into the dark abyss below. Were they really under the lake? Lakes generally contained water, and Bilbo only saw thick sheets of ice above, and endless darkness below. He didn’t have long to puzzle it over though, because Thorin was already clomping down the path, one hand against the wall. Mimicking him, Bilbo followed.

“Are you sure about this?” Bilbo asked, keeping his eyes on Thorin’s back.

“If the fayth objects to an outsider, then we know that Yevon’s decrees were made for a reason,” Thorin replied, his voice strangely tight. Maybe he wasn’t as calm about this descent as Bilbo had assumed. “If she doesn’t, you have questions only she can answer.” 

Remembering their conversations on the ships, Bilbo knew that Thorin wanted those answers too. He might even have some questions of his own, for all Bilbo knew. He felt another twinge of regret at the thought. For all that he kept getting glimpses into Thorin’s heart, and that he’d been truly accepted as a guardian, he still knew next to nothing about his summoner. But then, what did Thorin know about him, either? In the grand scheme of things, they really hadn’t known each other that long, had they? Somehow, it felt like it had been much longer than a few weeks.

Through his musings, Bilbo took every step slowly and carefully, feeling the ice with his toes before putting his foot all the way down. Despite being an apparently natural path, the ice didn’t seem to have any especially slick spots, but he wasn’t about to take that chance. If he lost his footing, there would be nothing to hold on to, and therefore nothing to keep him from going over the edge.

“I wonder what’s in the temple this far down aside from the fayth,” he mused. “We’ve gone down a fair ways.”

“The priests live down here,” Thorin replied after a moment of silence. “The doors to the left and right of the one we entered lead to their chambers, which are below the room we were in.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to ask how Thorin knew that, then closed it again. Of course, they had been treating Thorin in there.

“Their rooms don’t connect to the Chamber of the Fayth?” Bilbo asked.

“Even the priests are forbidden to enter there,” Thorin said with a note of finality.

Bilbo swallowed heavily, and said nothing else. He knew they were nearing the bottom, because the faint strains of the Hymn of the Fayth were getting louder. Maybe it was just because of what he knew about her, but this fayth’s hymn seemed mournful in a way the other’s hadn’t been. Or maybe he just hadn’t been listening to the others properly.

When they reached the bottom, Thorin turned to him with an expectant look. “Are you ready?”

No turning back now. “Yes,” Bilbo said with a nod.

Thorin nodded in response, then turned back to the door. It slid up automatically at his approach, and Bilbo kept close behind him in case the door tried to bar his entry. 

The chamber itself wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. It was a simple, circular room, with a huge glowing stone in the center. Embedded in the stone was the image of the fayth, or perhaps the statue that was the fayth itself. He saw a woman’s back, with thick braided hair extending out in several directions. As he watched, a transparent figure pulled herself out of the statue, hovering several inches off the ground. She was tall, much taller than Thorin, though her rounded ears betrayed her as human. She stared at Bilbo, though the corners of her lips quirked up in a smile.

Thorin knelt, and Bilbo wondered if he should do the same.

“It has been a long time since any dared defy Yevon’s decrees,” the fayth observed. “Few summoners will take the risk.”

“We were told you might have answers,” Thorin replied, a slight edge to his tone. “And my guardian has been curious about you since Gandalf told us some of your story.”

The fayth stroked her chin thoughtfully. “It has been even longer since someone dared to presume I might answer questions. But then, that too is a test of your resolve, is it not, summoner Thorin? You are willing to turn all of Yevon against you in order to win.”

Thorin did not reply, and the fayth turned her attention to Bilbo.

“What would you know, little hobbit?” she asked more gently.

Bilbo found himself suddenly tongue-tied in the face of the spirit of a long-dead woman. He doubted now that she would answer just any questions. Better try his luck first, he decided.

“Who are you?” he asked, earning a look from Thorin, which he ignored. Thorin had said he was curious about her.

The fayth floated a little closer to him, tilting her head slightly. “I think you mean, who was I?”

“No,” Bilbo disagreed, his voice growing in strength. “I don’t.”

She smiled a little more, though her eyes were sad. “Flatterer. Very well, I can answer that. My father named me Tar-Miriel, and as his sole child, I was to be Queen. My cousin named me Ar-Zimraphel after forcing me to marry him, and then drove my country into the ground. I still don’t know if it was Sin, or the displeasure of something higher that brought our doom upon us. As the waves crashed down around us, I ran for the highest point, to beg Yevon’s intercession. No answer came. I knew what I had to do then.”

“You gave your soul to Yevon,” Bilbo finished for her.

“Yes,” the fayth agreed. “Yevon named me Shiva, the aeon of endless ice. My transformation froze the flood where it stood, creating the lake. The power I should have had in life I was given in death.”

“With interest,” Thorin muttered, and Bilbo noticed that he was shivering. He hadn’t even noticed the cold.

Shiva laughed. “Yes. In life, I was nothing more than a tool to give others power. In death, I am the same. Only now, I can refuse. A subtle difference, but a significant one.”

Thorin looked up sharply at that, and Shiva laughed again. “Wait your turn, summoner. I haven’t said I won’t help you. It’s been a long time since anyone cared where their power came from.” She turned back to Bilbo. “I will answer one other question. Choose wisely.”

Bilbo chewed on his lip thoughtfully. No point in beating around the bush anymore. Especially if Thorin was still injured and freezing his bits off.

“Where did I come from?” he asked at last, noting that her smile immediately vanished.

“Oh, my child,” she murmured, drawing even closer to him. “I can’t tell you yet. Not here, where the priests are so close. Not here, where those who were never meant to know of it are. Any other question, and I might have been able to give you an answer, but this is not my secret to tell. But know this: you come from a land kept safe and warm by the fayth, who dream of a peaceful world, untouched by Sin. The people you left behind are all well.”

Bilbo pursed his lips. “Can I go back?”

Shiva shook her head. “I do not think that will be possible, though I do not know all things or all possibilities,” she admitted. “But I also think that by the time this journey is over, you will not want to.”

Left with those puzzling words, Bilbo didn’t notice for several minutes that Shiva had turned her attention back to Thorin’s test. When he did, he slid back against the wall, out of the way.

“What will you use my power for, Summoner Thorin?” Shiva was asking, her hand back on her chin.

“To give my people a home again,” he replied stiffly, not looking up from the floor.

“What use will that home be without someone to lead them?” she asked immediately. “A king has a duty to his people.”

What was she talking about?

“Kings have been performing that duty by defeating Sin for thousands of years,” Thorin replied more uncertainly. “They have my sister, and my nephews. Any one of them could serve in my stead. As I have no other heirs, they would have to eventually in any case.”

“Do not try to deceive me, Summoner Thorin,” Shiva said sharply. “You are running away. Life is too hard, so you choose this instead.”

“This is my duty,” Thorin replied stubbornly.

“That duty is crushing you. Sin cannot be defeated out of a wish to fulfill duty alone,” Shiva told him bluntly. “Your heart is not strong enough for this task.”

“Even so, I must try,” Thorin insisted. “There is no choice for me. Not anymore.”

Shiva made a frustrated sound. “I did not say you could not win. But not as you are now. You are like the walking dead in your current state. There is no sacrifice if you are not truly alive. Without sacrifice, your quest is meaningless.”

Sacrifice? Bilbo felt like he was trying to put together a puzzle with only half of the pieces, and without knowing what it was supposed to look like in the end.

Thorin finally looked up. “What must I do to earn your power?”

“Find something to live for,” she said, drawing close enough to touch him. Shiva leaned down and whispered in his ear, too quietly for Bilbo to hear. Whatever she said made Thorin turn to look at him suddenly, a strange intensity in his eyes. Shiva turned to look too, and something made the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile.

“Is that enough?” Thorin asked her gruffly.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I will grant you my power. I hope you can handle it.”

Light flowed from Shiva into Thorin, until there was no sign of the fayth, and Thorin was wincing in pain. Bilbo rushed forward to help him up, though Thorin shrugged him off once he was safely standing.

“What did all of that mean?” Bilbo asked once they were back on the ice path.

Thorin didn’t answer immediately, to the point that Bilbo wondered if he should repeat the question. Over the hymn, and their unsteady footsteps, maybe he just hadn’t heard. He opened his mouth to ask again when Thorin cut him off.

“She wanted me to quit, before I died without defeating Sin,” Thorin replied curtly. Bilbo pursed his lips, but let the subject die. Thorin wasn’t done, though. “Why did you ask the fayth about herself?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But I thought, wouldn’t it be awful to live like that, trapped in stone, only seeing people who want something from you, with no one really remembering anything about you? Her people are all dead. The other fayth are all protected by their legacies, by people who pass down their stories. She doesn’t have anyone like that.”

Thorin turned to face him suddenly, causing Bilbo to almost lose his footing. “Will you remember us?”

Bilbo nearly slid back down the ramp in surprise. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “You’re going to defeat Sin! I doubt anyone will be able to forget you.”

“It was a foolish question,” was all Thorin said before resuming the long climb in silence.


	13. Run!

Dwalin was ready and waiting when Bilbo and Thorin finally finished their climb up the ice path, showing a level of preparedness for which they could only be grateful. Weak from exhaustion, injury, and being tested by the fayth, Thorin had needed help making it up the last third or so of the path, and Bilbo was more than happy to pass that responsibility off to someone stronger. The priests appeared not long after (though late enough to avoid seeing Bilbo emerge with Thorin), and bundled them all off into a spare room to spend the night. They were all stuffed in one room, and there weren’t enough beds, but it was warm and that was enough.

Tired as he was, Bilbo’s curiosity had been pricked by Thorin’s conversation with Shiva, and so he curled up in a corner to start reading the book from Dís. It began with the creation myth of the dwarves, which was familiar by now, along with accounts of how Durin I’s reign was untroubled by Sin, and all of the dwarf kingdoms prospered for a time. Then Sin arose from the ruins of Doriath, and smote many kingdoms, driving part of the continent into the sea. That was the beginning of the many hardships of the dwarves, because two of their seven kingdoms were lost with that part of the continent. The survivors fled to the stronghold of Durin, bringing that kingdom untold prosperity, but drawing the eye of Sin. In the end, Durin II had been the first dwarf to defeat Sin, in order to protect his kingdom.

Bilbo rubbed his eyes tiredly. He couldn’t help but notice that the book made no mention of Yevon, or of powerful weapons. It spoke animatedly about their skilled craftsmanship in those days, and how much of their skills were lost with those kingdoms, but nothing about special weapons. In fact, it seemed to focus more on the armor-making skills of the lost kingdoms. Maybe that was why Dís had translated the book herself. It was probably on some kind of banned list. Just in case, he made sure it was securely stowed under his shirt before he fell asleep. 

Hands shook him roughly, and Bilbo awoke sluggishly, awareness coming back in slow degrees. He couldn’t tell if it was still night or if day had broken; their room had no windows, no light at all other than the roaring fire.

“Get up, please!” Fili begged him, the shaking stopping for a moment.

“What’s going on?” Bilbo asked thickly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“The warrior monks from the woods are here!” Kili told him, excitement and worry both shining in his eyes.

“They accuse Thorin of heresy,” Balin related, packing hurriedly. “Someone saw you emerge from the chamber of the fayth with him. They want him taken to Bevelle to stand trial.”

“For execution, you mean,” Dwalin muttered.

Fear chilled Bilbo’s blood, and he stuffed his meager belongings into his pack hurriedly. He opened his mouth to take responsibility; it was his fault after all, but a look from Thorin silenced him.

“This is Thranduil’s revenge,” he said irritably. “They would have found an excuse with or without you.”

It wasn’t a comforting thought, but he let them bundle him off into a hidden passageway without complaint. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if what he had learned had been worth the trouble.

“Where is Gandalf?” he asked, realizing that he hadn’t seen the wizard since his rude awakening.

“Slowing the warrior monks down,” Thorin replied, signalling that they should be quiet. “A priest warned him, and he showed us this passage before leaving.”

It was slow going. The passageway was narrow, wedged between rooms that had little enough space to begin with. Moreover, Bilbo doubted it would bypass the cloister of trials, which meant that they would have to navigate it while being chased. If it were a normal temple, maybe they would have been safe in there, it being taboo for anyone not a summoner or guardian to enter. But Shiva wasn’t done testing Thorin, that much was clear.

They emerged from the hidden passage just past the central chamber. Bilbo could hear the warrior monks shifting around, the heavy stomp of their boots echoing loudly. They would have to be quiet to make it out of there without being noticed, which was of course why Kili slipped on the ice with an audible thud at just that moment. 

There was a rush of booted feet in their direction, Gandalf shouting at them to run, and then they were doing just that, Fili nearly dragging his brother to his feet in their hurry to flee. The path was made of ice though, and slippery, and both of them fell on their faces. Thankfully, the warrior monks were having the same problems; as Bilbo glanced back to check on their pursuers, he saw that their progress was blocked by several warrior monks who’d fallen almost the second they stepped on the ice.

“How does it look back there?” Balin asked, panting slightly.

“They’re stopped for the moment, but I doubt it will be for long,” he reported.

“Keep running,” Thorin agreed, his expression grim. “We may lose them in the woods.”

“In the- Thorin, there is no way we’ll make it to the woods!” Bilbo argued.

“He’s right,” Balin agreed grimly. “Now that they’ve found us, they’ll be careful not to let us get away. We’ll tire long before we reach the woods, and that will be it.”

Thorin frowned, and looked ready to argue the point, but Dwalin interrupted him. “We could make a hole in the ice,” he pointed out. “It’s thin where that wolf fell on it. We could hide in the lake.”

“The hole might just freeze over again,” Thorin disagreed. “The lake freezes too quickly.”

“Can Ifrit take care of that?” Bilbo asked impatiently. “Or you could ask Shiva to tone down the ice a bit.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched. “We’ll see,” was all he said. 

The warrior monks had gotten their act together somewhat, and were starting to pursue, so they picked up their pace as much as they could. Thankfully, when they reached the cloister, the door locked behind them with an audible click. They wouldn’t be disturbed while they solved the puzzle anyway.

They were forced to scramble out of the cloister when the door unlocked, letting in the impatient warrior monks, to avoid being trapped in there with them and having to solve the puzzle a second time. The monks having to solve the puzzle did buy them time, but they didn’t slow down. Bilbo was already red-faced and panting by the time they made it out of the temple, but with the landscape utterly unfamiliar to him, he had no choice but to follow the dwarves and keep running. He’d been unconscious the last time they’d come this way, and he wasn’t confident he could find his way back to the Travel Agency if they got separated.

Eventually, Dwalin signalled a halt, and Bilbo saw what they meant. In the spot where the wolf had fallen, there was a thin spot in the ice that it would be easier to break through. A few feet below, he saw the roof of a building, which was presumably their hiding place. If they missed the roof, there was a bit of a fall, and then water further down. He wondered what it meant that the water level of the lake had dropped so far.

Thorin was already motioning for them to climb down, having melted the thin spot into a hole with Ifrit. Fili and Kili went first, then Bilbo, who fell unceremoniously into the waiting arms of the younger dwarves. Balin came next, followed by Gandalf, who had somehow outpaced the warrior monks considerably to rejoin them, landing with more grace than Bilbo would have expected. Dwalin and Thorin leapt down together, as Thorin wanted to be last, and Dwalin wouldn’t have it. Once Thorin was down, Bilbo watched with some trepidation as the hole above them shrunk until it was barely larger than one of Bilbo’s feet, refrozen by Shiva’s power. Then the group scrambled down the sides of the ruined building, until they found an open window and climbed inside to wait.

The silence was deafening as they waited for the sound of boots stomping across the ice, though the longer they waited, the more Bilbo could hear the distant strains of Shiva’s hymn coming from the temple. Despite being hidden under a thick sheet of ice, as well as a stone house, no one wanted to risk talking. If they were overheard, they probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to have all of the warrior monks fall when they attempted the jump, and if they tried fighting them off, things would only be worse for Thorin.

Though weren’t things bad enough, considering that they’d run? Where even was the next temple again? Would they be able to enter without being arrested? Maybe it was already too late for any of that.

Bilbo’s gaze drifted to Thorin as he wondered about the fate of the pilgrimage. Thorin sat slightly apart from the group, looking out the window, his expression utterly closed off. There was no way he wasn’t worried about the same things.

It was obvious now what had happened: Thranduil was calling Thorin’s bluff, and it was working because the dwarves disliked getting too involved with Yevon. Another summoner might have tried to argue his case, or use the blackmail material Thranduil had provided, but not Thorin. What Thranduil stood to gain from all this was unclear though. The summoners were competitive, but to go to these lengths? There had to be more to it.

Noticing that Gandalf was watching him intently, Bilbo shuffled over to him, deciding that the wizard was the likeliest to be able to explain this odd conduct, short of Thorin.

“Why would another summoner do this?” he asked Gandalf as quietly as he could. “It doesn’t make sense. They should be on the same side.”

Gandalf opened his mouth to answer, but Thorin spoke instead, proving that he hadn’t been quiet enough. “A grudge,” Thorin said, not looking away from the window. “His family has had no more luck than ours at defeating Sin in recent centuries.”

“It could be that,” Gandalf allowed. “Or, it could be something else. Thranduil’s father retired to Guadosalam because he tired of the reckless ways of other summoners, who endangered many lives during their fights with Sin. He may believe that you are as likely to cause harm as good.”

Thorin’s expression darkened, but he didn’t turn his gaze from the window. Bilbo realized that he was probably trying to keep his anger in check.

“Does he have the right to make that call?” he asked Gandalf, out of consideration for Thorin.

“No,” Gandalf answered quickly. “And Yevon does not care either way, as it turns out. They believe that even if a summoner fights Sin in a heavily populated area and huge losses result from that, if Sin is defeated it was worth the cost.”

Remembering how Thorin wanted to fight Sin when it attacked Kilika, Bilbo wondered if Thranduil was right. Thorin wouldn’t lead it toward a town on purpose, but he would probably fight it wherever it happened to be, regardless of potential consequences. He was a little short-sighted that way.

“Which is why he made something up to stop us,” Dwalin muttered, running a cleaning rag over his knuckle-dusters.

“Speaking of being stopped,” Bilbo said, changing the subject, “How are we going to get out of here? The ice is too far away to jump to, as far as I can tell.”

“We’ve got grappling hooks,” Kili assured him, pulling one out of his bag.

“And enough rope to go even further down, if we want to,” Fili confirmed, revealing a thick coil of rope.

His worries assuaged, Bilbo set about exploring the ruined building they had taken up residence in. None of the dwarves had made any moves toward escape, and no one had shushed him during their conversation, so it seemed safe enough to indulge his curiosity for a bit. He couldn’t exactly be seen from above in here. So he puttered around the chamber, jotting down some interesting symbols he found, while ignoring the amused stares some of the dwarves were giving him. When he found a crumbled flight of stairs and set off down it without a word though, he quickly found that he had company.

Thorin followed him down the stairs, frowning at him. “None of us should wander alone,” he said, and proceeded to follow Bilbo through his explorations.

“You could have sent one of the lads,” Bilbo pointed out absently, his attention riveted by trying to determine what the purpose of the room was.

“Only if I wanted to put you in further danger,” Thorin muttered. “They would probably find some ancient trap to get stuck in.”

Bilbo made a noncommittal sound, not really hearing him. If what Gandalf said was to be believed, they were standing in Shiva’s ruined kingdom, destroyed several thousand years ago. How was this room so well preserved then, considering that the foundation at least was submerged, and presumably all of it had been at one time? There wasn’t even any noticeable plant growth, like moss or algae, though admittedly he knew little about plants that grew in colder climates.

“You find these ruins that fascinating?” Bilbo started as Thorin’s words pierced his consciousness, and he realized that Thorin must have been speaking for some time without his noticing.

“Don’t you?” Bilbo asked, flushing slightly. “They’re in such good shape, considering how long they’ve been down here.”

“Spira is covered in ruins,” Thorin replied with a shrug. “After a while, they start to look the same.”

“You don’t believe that. I’m sure you can at least tell the difference between dwarven ruins, and those of other races,” Bilbo pointed out.

“Actually… no.” Thorin actually seemed embarrassed by this admission, his face darkening in a flush of his own. “Dwarves helped build many of the older cities. They are all a mix of symbols from various races.”

“Only the older cities?” Bilbo asked, rifling through some of the detritus on the floor.

“Before Yevon decided that the dwarves were to blame for the coming of Sin,” Thorin replied bitterly.

Bilbo sat back on his heels. “I’ve been wondering about that actually,” he said, noticing how Thorin stiffened. “Why are you a summoner, if Yevon and the dwarves are on bad terms?”

“Because the Crusaders have never won, and my people need a home,” was all he would say, but Bilbo hardly expected more. It was a practical answer. Yevon might make things difficult, but Thorin took his duty to his people seriously. If the Crusaders had been more successful, maybe they wouldn’t have been hiding under the lake just then.

“I should tell you-” Thorin began, but a shout from the other room interrupted him.

“Thorin! Bilbo! Come back now!” Balin’s shouts carried down the stairs, and they sprinted up the stairs with all speed.

Aquatic fiends were trying to enter through the window, though Dwalin was holding them off for the moment. Kili was a safe distance behind him, picking off some of the other fiends with his bow.

“The warrior monks have passed over,” Gandalf assured them. “So don’t hold back. I suspect Sin may be close, drawn by the unusual concentration of people near the temple.”

There hadn’t been that many warrior monks sent to arrest Thorin… had there?

A finned fiend broke free from Dwalin’s bottleneck, and charged Bilbo, giving him no more time to muse about the warrior monks or Sin. The dwarves soon all had their own fiends to fight, so he had to take care of this himself.

The fiend quivered strangely, cocking its’ head sharply as it appraised Bilbo. Then, without warning, it lunged forward, and he tripped in his haste to get out of the way, raising his sword reflexively. It glanced off the fiends’ armored chest, but the fiend was distracted by the hit and rolled off to one side. He only had one chance. Tightening his grip on his sword, Bilbo charged, taking a huge dent out of the fiend’s neck before it could recover. It took several more hacking blows with his sword to kill the damn thing, but he managed it.

There was no time to celebrate his small victory, though. The hair on his arms rose, his entire body prickling with a familiar sensation. It took him a moment to place it, but when he did, he dashed for the window.

“Sin’s here!” he shouted, drawing everyone’s attention. “It feels the same as when it attacked the Shire!” He didn’t see it out the window though, which worried him. Where could it be?

“Get away from the window!” Thorin ordered, a moment before the roof of the building was torn off.

Debris struck Bilbo’s head, and the last thing he remembered as Sin bore him up was Thorin clinging to the wall, staring up as everyone else was torn away.


	14. The Blue Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks to those of you who are still sticking with me! I'm balancing a lot of other projects right now, so I'm glad this one has still held your interest. This is kind of an important chapter, especially if you haven't played the game and don't know whats coming. Enjoy!

Bilbo awoke slowly, feeling grit in his eyes and throat. He groped around, pulling up fistfulls of sand. His first thought was that he was back on the beach in Besaid, carried back through time to the day he’d first met the dwarves, but as his vision cleared, he realized that he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Sand surrounded him in every direction, spreading on for miles and miles. The sun beat down heavily on his back, and he knew that wherever Sin had dropped him, it was far away from their hiding place under Macalania Temple.

Sitting up took some effort, but he was remarkably unhurt. A few cuts and scrapes here and there, but nothing was broken, and he wasn’t bleeding out, and those were both things to be thankful for. Likewise, he still had his sword and pack, and the book from Dís was still safe under his shirt. That said, there was no sign of the dwarves or Gandalf, or civilization at all for that matter.

He remembered his mother’s words, back from when he was small, and she’d take him to the market with her. “If you get lost, stay where you are,” she’d insist firmly. “If you try to find me, you’ll end up more lost, and we might never find each other again.” Sound advice in Hobbiton’s market, but it felt less applicable in the middle of the desert. The dwarves wouldn’t know where to begin looking, and if they all waited to be found, they’d die of thirst first.

A harsh gust of sandy wind decided him. Wrapping an extra shirt around his head so that only his eyes were exposed, Bilbo set off into the desert, sword held in front of him cautiously. He picked a random direction, and did his best to follow it in a straight line, deviating only when particularly tall sand dunes forced him to. Desert fiends appeared from time to time, but they mostly ignored him, probably finding more interesting prey elsewhere. Eventually, it occurred to him to follow one, and there he found Dwalin, sweating and swearing in another language.

“Do you know where we are?” Bilbo asked once the fiends were dealt with.

“Aye, that I do,” Dwalin admitted. “Roughly. Bikanel Island, where many of our kin settled after Sin took the mountain.”

“Here?” Bilbo couldn’t think of a less likely place for dwarves to live. “There are no mountains!”

“Save those we made ourselves,” Dwalin agreed. “We called it Ered Luin, or the Blue Mountains.”

“Why?” Had they painted their home blue, or something?

Dwalin laughed. “If ye look at the sky, with the dunes poking up into it, it kind of looks like mountains,” he admitted. “It was a bit of gallows humor, that they were the last mountains we were like to see.”

It did almost look like mountains, though he imagined that it must have been a very sad dwarf who first noticed that, and mentioned it to others. Gallows humor was right.

“By the way, you’re not to tell anyone where this is,” Dwalin continued more sharply. “If Yevon knew, well. They don’t much like us.”

It was probably the most talkative Dwalin had ever been with him, and Bilbo found himself agreeing easily. “I’m wanted by them too, remember?”

“Aye, but you might be tempted to sell us out for a lighter sentence,” Dwalin replied, though there wasn’t any judgment in it.

“I would never,” Bilbo practically shouted, indignant. “Besides, without a map, I could never find anything here. I’m not sure how you can. It all looks the same.”

“That’s true enough, but our home is at the far northern tip of the island, so wherever you are, it’s north from there,” Balin explained, appearing from behind a dune. “From there, it’s just a matter of using the sun and moon to navigate.”

There was a brief cheerful reunion, which ended when the brothers headbutted each other.

“Have ye seen the lads?” Dwalin asked, the business of reuniting taken care of.

“Not yet,” Balin replied shaking his head. “Hopefully one of them is with Gandalf, since they should know the way back.”

“What about Thorin?” Bilbo asked, wringing his hands in concern. It seemed strange that they would forget him.

“I don’t think he came with us,” Balin admitted grimly. “As we were pulled up by Sin, he managed to get a good grip. With luck, he’s still under the lake.”

“And without luck?” Bilbo didn’t really need to ask, but he hoped beyond hope that he was wrong.

“Arrested and standing trial in Bevelle,” Dwalin answered derisively. “Or dead.”

Despite the burning sun, it felt like ice chips were floating in Bilbo’s veins. “Well then, we need to hurry, don’t we? While we wander around in the desert, Thorin’s waiting for us.”

The brothers appraised him, identical grins settling on their faces. It was the first time Bilbo had thought they actually looked related.

“Well said, lad,” Dwalin said, clapping him heavily on the arm. Bilbo’s knees buckled, but he managed to keep his feet somehow.

“North is that way,” Balin indicated with one hand, shading his eyes with the other. “Let’s be off.”

They walked for hours, until Bilbo was sure that he would never find his way back to the start. The wind and sand obliterated all landmarks periodically, and their footprints never lasted very long. He might have found his way to the coast eventually, using the rising and setting sun as a guidepost, but the odds were against finding the dwarven outpost. Without knowing it was there in the first place, he wouldn’t have even known to look for it.

A familiar cry reunited them with Fili, Kili and Gandalf after a few hours, along with most of their rations, but the news wasn’t all good. Being tossed about by Sin and thrown in the desert had destroyed much of their food stores, and Fili and Kili had not rationed the water, so they didn’t have long before wandering the desert became a lot less coherent, and a lot more potentially fatal.

In the end, bruised, foot sore, hungry and thirsty, the company was picked up by a random patrol on a hover, who thankfully recognized the dwarves before arming weapons. Bilbo and Gandalf spent the last few miles blindfolded, for which the company apologized profusely, but there was nothing to be done. Bilbo was beyond caring. They needed to go after Thorin. Delaying by arguing about procedure would just waste time they didn’t have.

There being no natural mountains, Ered Luin was a mountain of metal, constructed entirely by skilled dwarven hands. Bilbo could barely believe his eyes when they took his blindfold off. Most of the buildings in Spira seemed to fit their environment, but Ered Luin was a fortress, built to keep the dwarven race alive at all costs. He was surprised on the one hand that Thorin seemed obsessed with getting back his ancestral home, when they had a home already. On the other hand, dwarves were meant to live in mountains, carving their fortunes from the bounty of the rocks. The only bountiful thing here was sand. Even the metal of the fortress had probably been brought from somewhere else, or salvaged from beneath the desert sands. How they ate, he was sure he would never know. There had to be facilities deeper inside the fortress that accomplished that, but they were definitely too secret for an outsider.

It was here that Bilbo met Thorin’s dismissed guardians.

They were undeniably a motley crew, and there were also quite a lot of them. He remembered Thranduil’s jibe about Thorin’s guardians, and wondered how much worse it would have been if he hadn’t sent the rest home. When they saw Bilbo, and were made to understand that he was a guardian, to say that they were curious was an understatement.

“Why did he agree to it? Surely a halfling can’t offer superior protection to hardened dwarvish warriors!” The red-headed Gloin insisted, earning some agreement from his fellows.

“What?” Oin turned his ear-trumpet toward his brother.

Thereafter followed a confused mass of dwarves shouting in Oin’s general direction, and Bilbo began to understand why Thorin had decided to keep things more manageable. The traveling expenses alone for such a large group! There was probably more to it than that, but it didn’t really matter. His existence was an insult to this group, at least until Balin got them calm enough to explain the circumstances, and they didn’t really have time for that.

“Gentlemen, please!” Balin insisted. “Thorin has been taken by Yevon, and we cannot waste time.”

“You’ve got a plan then?” Bofur asked, the other dwarves quieting.

“If they have their minds set on execution, they’ll make it as public as possible,” Dori observed, cupping his chin. “A normal summoner might face the Via Purifico, but…”

“They won’t make it easy to get in undetected,” Nori agreed.

“Then we’ll just ram our way in!” Ori insisted, sounding much more confident about the idea than his appearance suggested was a good idea.

“And die in the attempt,” Balin disagreed, shaking his head. “Bevelle is protected by stone giants. They would swat us out of the sky.”

“But wait, why would they publicly execute Thorin?” Bilbo had been pondering that over, and so missed the fact that the conversation had moved on. “Wouldn’t they want to cover up the fact that a summoner had supposedly strayed?”

The dwarves all turned to look at him, and he recognized the look in their eyes as pity.

“You must remember, the dwarves and Yevon have a difficult relationship,” Gandalf reminded him, breaking a long silence. The dwarves all blinked, as if they’d forgotten he was there. Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if there had been some magic involved. “In cases like these, they would rather make an example of Thorin than take care of him quietly. That is why we must act quickly.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Nori asked, watching Gandalf with narrowed eyes.

“I believe young Ori had the right idea,” Gandalf admitted. “A direct assault on the citadel when they are preparing to execute Thorin would be extremely public. Seeing him rescued by his guardians, people might question if Yevon was in the right, for how could guardians be loyal to an unworthy summoner? Even if we were caught, a shift in public sentiment would caude them to send us to the Via Purifico, and contrary to popular belief, there is a way out.”

Fili and Kili’s eyes were shining with excitement, and the older dwarves were scarcely less eager.

“Never would have expected such a plan from you,” Dwalin admitted with grudging respect.

“It is not without risk,” Gandalf admitted. “But Yevon’s only weakness is public opinion. Maester Saruman has not remained Head Maester by ignoring it.”

“But how are we going to get there in time?” Bilbo asked. “The warrior monks won’t have had far to go to get Thorin to Bevelle.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Bofur assured him. “We’ve got just the ticket.”

“The salvaged ship?” Kili asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.

“You got it fixed up?” Fili looked barely less eager.

“Oh, sure,” Bofur agreed, making his way toward the ship, leaving everyone else to follow. “Bifur has a way with these old machines. He got it purring in no time at all.”

When they reached the hanger, Bilbo’s mouth fell open. This was an old machine? It was hovering above the ground, seemingly without assistance! “How is it doing that?” he asked Balin quietly.

“That, my lad, is an airship,” Balin replied proudly. “They fly, you know. Reached their peak a few thousand years ago, before Sin sunk most of them and destroyed the mine where we found their power sources. Now, salvage is the only way to go, at least until we find another power source.”

“But how does it work?” he asked again, only to be met with a shrug.

“We haven’t built one in generations,” Balin reminded him. “Durin would know, but he hasn’t been reborn in a thousand years, and Thorin had more important matters to attend to than interrogating his shade about the inner workings of ancient technology.”

The dwarves assured Bilbo that they could complete the necessary preparations more quickly without his inexperienced help, so he found a nice, quiet corner on the airship to continue reading his history book. The more he read, the more something stuck out as strange. Durin II was the first dwarf to defeat Sin, and become High Summoner. Yet, there was no more mention made of him after that. The next reference to Durin was Durin III, and the pattern was the same with him. His achievements all came to end after his defeat of Sin, and he was never mentioned again. Durin IV was the same. The only deviations were Durin I, who didn’t fight Sin at all, and Durin V, who became a fayth.

Bilbo scratched his head. He felt like he was trying to look directly at something that was hiding from him. This new information was like the last piece of a puzzle that he’d been assembling since he arrived on the beach, except he still didn’t know what the picture looked like. He wanted to ask someone, demand some answers, but that would have to wait until they were underway.

He waited until he felt the deck shift under him, and no longer. Bilbo set off for the bridge, hoping to find Balin or Gandalf. It was a bit of a relief that Gandalf was right outside. Something told him that this wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to be public.

“Oh, there you are Bilbo!” Gandalf clapped him on the shoulder. “I was beginning to worry that you never made it on the ship.”

“I just found somewhere to be out of the way,” Bilbo replied impatiently. “Gandalf, I need to ask you something. Something important.”

Gandalf peered at him intently, as if reading his thoughts. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked simply.

“Yes. I think I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from you,” Bilbo admitted. “Everyone has been… well, dancing around what happens when you defeat Sin. Dís gave me a book on the line of Durin, and none of them get mentioned again after they defeat Sin. They just vanish.”

“That is a good word for it,” Gandalf told him. “Whether a pilgrimage succeeds or fails, for the summoner the result is the same. They die unsent.”

His comment in Macalania woods about ‘after the pilgrimage’ felt terribly insensitive in hindsight. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to scream and cry, or respond emotionally at all. He was in shock, even though he had guessed at the truth before this. Knowing it for a certainty was different. How could his mother done this? How could Thorin do this, risking Fili and Kili’s lives as well? No wonder Dís was so unhappy with his choice. She only had her sons and her brother left, and her brother was knowingly walking toward his own doom.

“But why? If they kill Sin-”

“The final aeon,” Gandalf said simply. “It is too powerful to fully control, and the summoner has no time to bond with it. After killing Sin, it turns on the summoner. The guardians too, if they are unlucky.”

“I don’t understand,” Bilbo admitted heavily. “If Sin always comes back, why do people willingly accept dying to defeat it? They die, but Sin doesn’t!”

By now this conversation was starting to attract the attention of passing dwarves, but Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to lower his voice. They were all okay with this? They just accepted this as necessary?

“Every summoner has the same hope: that when they defeat Sin, its defeat will be permanent,” Gandalf explained wistfully. “Even though in thousands of years, it never has been.”

“Then why don’t they try something else?” Bilbo demanded. “I seem to recall something about the definition of madness: doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

“This world is mad,” Gandalf replied simply. “But the summoners are not the only ones who fight Sin. The Crusaders, under the initial direction of Lord Mi’ihen, have fought against Yevon’s dictates that only the final aeon can defeat Sin for thousands of years. You know as well as I how that has gone for them. Sin remains. The summoners die. Can you change that, Bilbo Baggins?”

Currently? No. He had no idea where to even start. But there had to be something he could do. Why else had Gandalf brought him to this twisted world?

Bilbo paused. It couldn’t have been just to help Thorin on his way to a heroic death, could it? Something felt off about that. Especially if there really was no Shire, and he had to make his way in this world when it was done.

“I’m sure I can figure something out,” he finally said with a shrug, projecting far more confidence than he felt.

Gandalf’s eyes had an amused twinkle as he started walking toward the bridge, though he didn’t reply. After all, first they needed to rescue Thorin. Then they could worry about keeping him alive.


	15. Bevelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The opening scene of this chapter was actually my favorite part of the game, just because it's so completely ridiculous. I'm not sure if I managed to capture that, but I hope you enjoy it.

It was the most harebrained plan Bilbo had ever been party to.

True, he’d never really thought much of the plan when it was suggested. Even without having seen Bevelle, smashing their way in sounded unbelievably reckless, to say nothing of the potential property damage. Would the people really support Thorin’s right to finish his pilgrimage if his guardians destroyed part of the city? In a protected city like Bevelle, it might not be a weekly occurrence like it was in the smaller towns and villages. 

Of course, it probably would be after they slew the stone giants that protected the city. That part was absolutely necessary, Gandalf claimed. The huge fiends guarded the city by air, giving Sin enough trouble to make it turn back. They could probably handle an airship if left unchallenged, as they were apparently mobile enough to avoid the main guns.

“How are we supposed to fight them then, if they’re that fast?” Bilbo asked, already confused that the dwarves had put him on the fighting team. Despite being Thorin’s former guardians, the others were apparently all needed for some aspect of running the airship. He suspected hazing.

“Being faster than the main guns doesn’t make them fast,” Nori replied with a glance at Dori, who was currently fiddling with a control panel.

“My guns are fast enough for Sin,” Dori replied stoutly, taking a swipe at Nori.

“But why should they care about us when crashing the ship will kill us anyway?” It seemed like a fair question, but the dwarves just looked at him like he was stupid.

“Fiends always prefer living targets,” Dwalin reminded him much less gruffly than usual. “Their jealousy of the living is what turns them into fiends.”

“Bevelle’s stone giants weren’t chosen for their intelligence, either,” Ori pointed out, flipping to some page in his journal. “Maester Saruman has to be able to control them, and they can’t attack people. So they pick biddable fiends, not smart ones.”

“Not that any fiends are truly biddable,” Balin observed. “There are theories that they are not fiends at all, but machines made using ancient dwarven technology. No one who has gotten close enough to say is still among the living.”

They all made it sound so simple. The fiends would come straight to them, and be slow enough to hit. Then they would complete their explosive descent, hopefully stopping the execution just in time with a daring rescue for all the city to see.

In retrospect, it really wasn’t much of a plan at all.

Bilbo really had no idea what to expect when the dwarves talked about the stone giants. Then he saw them, and realized that the stone giants simply had no need to dodge the main guns. As they threw giant boulders at the airship, the dwarves had to focus entirely on dodging. There was no point in trying to aim the guns when they were moving so much. They would never hit the giants, and taking out a section of Bevelle when they missed would not endear people to them. The stone giants weren’t fast at all, they simply forced their opponents to be.

“We need to get closer,” Gandalf urged Bifur at the helm, though Bifur only replied emphatically in a language Bilbo couldn’t understand. “From this distance, they can easily pick us off. If we get closer, they will see us standing on top of the ship, stop throwing boulders, and use their fists instead. That will give us a chance to fire.”

“And what exactly will we be doing on top of the ship?” Bilbo asked, trying not to wince as they narrowly avoided another boulder. “Can our weapons even hurt them?”

“Probably not,” Gandalf admitted. “But we need bait to lure them out. Between yourself, Fili and Kili, you should be interesting enough, and fast enough to stay out of their way.”

Clinging to the deck of the ship, facing down a rocky fist that was approaching far faster than he could have believed, Bilbo was inclined to never trust Gandalf again. He watched Kili’s arrows bounce harmlessly off the stone, and was relieved when Fili suggested he stop wasting arrows and get out of the way.

The stone fist whooshed harmlessly over their heads as they hit the deck, and the click of the weapon’s ports opening signaled the appearance of the main guns right before they pounded shells into the stone body. The torso shattered under such a determined assault, the body of the giant collapsing under its own weight. Still, the arm hadn’t moved from its position above their heads, and only evasive maneuvers fast enough to nearly toss Bilbo off the deck were enough to avoid being crushed by it.

One giant down. Three more to go.

The next nearest giant didn’t seem terribly interested in them, though. It aimed its blows directly at the ship, ignoring the tiny figures on the deck entirely. Even Kili wasting more arrows did nothing to draw away its attention.

After a particularly hard maneuver that left Bilbo winded and far too close to the edge of the deck for comfort, he decided that as long as they were acting on a ridiculous plan, he might as well try something ridiculous himself. There were no nicknames or other words for stone giants in the Shire, as they were hardly what you could call a common pest, but you didn’t have to be a spider to dislike being called ‘Attercop.’

Fili and Kili looked at him like he was crazy, but shouting at the stone giant did seem to have the desired effect, and soon they were joining in with more colorful dwarven insults, while dodging stone fists. The main guns were fired shortly thereafter, and yet another giant was dispatched.

In the brief lull before attacking the next one, Balin took advantage of a built-in loudspeaker mounted on the hull. “Surrender Summoner Thorin and allow us to land in peace, and we will leave half of your giants intact. Otherwise, we will destroy them, leaving your people vulnerable to Sin.”

Maester Saruman didn’t even take time to consider the offer. The next stone giant was charging them before they knew it, though by now they were close enough to get a glimpse of the execution platform raised high above the city. It was strange, but Bilbo had never really thought of Thorin as looking kingly until that moment, standing at the base of a staircase that led to his death, back straight, eyes forward, as if he was above such worldly concerns. As if it didn’t matter that this was how he was going to die, and that his death would be projected all across the city, and maybe across the world as an example.

It did matter, though. He could tell by the set of Thorin’s jaw that he didn’t want it to end this way, but wasn’t going to give Yevon the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

And then they were back to dodging stone giants, hoping that the last two would fall before Thorin’s head fell from his shoulders. They were lucky that even the presence of dwarvish warriors in the sky didn’t deter the clergy from the usual rites associated with such an event. It had been a long time since anyone had been executed so publicly. There were procedures to follow, rituals to obey. Yevon had to absolve itself of the sin of murder before they could go through with it.

It was only after the last stone giant fell, that they heard what Thorin was actually accused of.

“For the crimes of encouraging heresy in one of Sin’s vulnerable, conspiring with another summoner to end a pilgrimage, bringing another into the sacred Chamber of the Fayth and defiling her gift, resisting arrest and the murder of warrior monks, Thorin son of Thrain has been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead,” a priest intoned as they soared overhead, looking for the best way to land.

“Surely a king has the right to be tried by his own people?” Bilbo asked, not liking the look of the wires Bofur was readying.

“Even kings owe obedience to Yevon, and Thorin’s stated crimes are all forms of resisting that,” Balin told him sadly. “Matters of state to be handled by the states, matters of the sacred to be handled by Yevon. That is how it has always been.”

Bofur straightened suddenly, ushering them toward the hatch. “Right. On my signal, we’re going to launch these cables. Once they’re secure, as quick as you can, ride them down to the platform. The warrior monks will probably try to cut them, so get down there before that.”

“How are we getting out again?” Fili asked.

“We aren’t,” Gandalf replied bluntly. “Most likely we will have our chance to escape when they throw us in the Via Purifico. The airship won’t be able to help us once we land.”

All of this assumed they weren’t shot on the spot.

There wasn’t time to suggest an alternate plan. Thorin was too close to the noose, and Kili was leaning so far out of the hatch in his eagerness that he would probably just jump out if they delayed any further.

So, tucked between Dwalin and Fili, Bilbo slid down the cable, wincing as he went. The soles of his feet were thick, but they definitely weren’t made for this. Nor did the warrior monks firing at them as they went help at all. But if the screens were any indication, they hadn’t killed the broadcast. Good. He hadn’t gotten ropeburn on his feet for his daring rescue to go unseen.

It was obvious by the look on Thorin’s face as they charged up the stairs, Dwalin knocking warrior monks out of the way with his axes, that he hadn’t expected this at all. Whether it was his guardians dropping from the sky in a hail of gunfire, or just a rescue attempt at all, Bilbo couldn’t say. But it felt nice to be able to surprise him, especially when he was clearly expecting death. 

If nothing else, he would have company for his execution. The plan didn’t seem to be working as intended. The closer the group advanced toward the platform, the faster the warrior monks hustled Thorin to the noose. He was struggling a little now, seeing the possibility of escape, but Bilbo knew he was capable of more. Had he been drugged prior to the execution? Or was he exercising caution for once in his life?

In the end, there were too many warrior monks, and too few guardians. A particularly hard blow brought Bilbo to his knees, an armored hand twisting his neck and forcing him to watch Thorin as the noose was placed around his neck.

“I believe it is traditional to ask the prisoner if they have any last words,” Gandalf prompted, though he had more than a few guns pointed at him. “Anything to say to their guardians perhaps, considering that their purpose is at an end.”

Maester Saruman had looked almost bored the entire time they were climbing the steps. Now though, his eyebrows rose slowly, almost disdainfully as he looked down at Gandalf.

“You were always soft on traitors,” he observed, speaking for the first time that Bilbo could remember. “Why give him another chance to spread heresy and sedition? A summoner who defies Yevon is not truly a summoner at all, and not deserving of their rights.”

“And yet,” Gandalf countered while Bilbo held his breath. “Would a false summoner inspire such loyalty? Who would want to protect someone who does not truly wish to bring the calm? Are we not all told from birth that a summoners’ sacrifice is the height of all that is good, and cannot be done by someone with an evil heart?”

Saruman suddenly looked to the left and right, as if he had forgotten the very public nature of this exchange. “Is not the repeated failures of the dwarves proof that they have not truly repented, and thus that sin runs in their very bones?” Saruman replied stiffly. “He cannot be allowed to continue defiling the fayth with his lack of sincerity.”

“But does that justify murder?” Gandalf demanded, less sanguine now. “Whatever you say about heresy, sin, lack of sincerity, Thorin Oakenshield set out on a pilgrimage, with the intention of giving his life to save Spira. Does all of Spira deserve to watch him be slain by Yevon, simply because of another summoner’s jealousy?”

There was definite hesitation in Saruman’s eyes now, as he realized exactly what might happen if he went through with this. Summoners were Spira’s hope. One had to be very careful before doing anything that might snuff out that hope. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he might have said was interrupted by a collective gasp. During the exchange between Gandalf and Saruman, Thorin had been largely unwatched. Wrestling free of the hangman and reaching an unguarded window had been a simple matter. After all, falling from there would kill him just as surely as the hanging.

In that instant, their eyes met, and Bilbo knew exactly what Thorin was about to do. It might work, or it might completely upset their fragile plan. Oh, if only there had been a way to tell Thorin what the plan was!

Dwalin shouted something, in that language Bilbo couldn’t understand, but Thorin just shook his head. Fili and Kili repeated it with greater urgency, but Thorin was apparently done playing along.

“I will not die like this,” was all he said before plunging out of the window. As he fell, Bilbo remembered a conversation that felt like it had been such a long time ago. A conversation about flying aeons, and how long Thorin’s magic reserves would last him. Then, a shining aeon was carrying Thorin away, and Gandalf was pulling on Bilbo’s arm.

“Quickly,” he urged. “While Thorin has them distracted.”

Then they were all edging away from the warrior monks and the maesters, down a flight of stairs that Bilbo hadn’t noticed, into a chamber full of what Bilbo could only describe as bridges of light.

“Where are we?” Kili asked, Fili tugging him back from trying to step on one of the bridges.

“Inside the temple,” Gandalf replied shortly.

“But I’ve never seen technology like this before,” Fili protested, running his hand through one of the bridges. “Why does Yevon have something like this?”

“This is Yevon’s secret,” Dwalin replied grimly. “This temple is the last, and in their stronghold, so you’re in too deep to quit by the time you’ve seen it.”

“How do you think a city like Bevelle was built, my lad? The hands of dwarves, long since forgotten,” Balin told them. “The true trial here is not the maze, but the trial of faith.”

“And they were going to execute Thorin for heresy!” Bilbo’s mouth was a tight, disapproving line. 

“They still might,” Gandalf reminded him. “We must hurry.”

The lifts were rather nauseating, Bilbo found. They zipped across the light bridges far faster than seemed necessary, though they were probably slower than the airship. He wouldn’t count on it though. His nausea would have to wait though, as the dwarves started bickering about the proper way to solve the puzzle, and experience told him that the best way to stop that argument was to solve the puzzle himself. It was the fastest way to get back on solid ground, anyway, as Gandalf tended to absent himself from these arguments.

It was a relief to hear the faint strains of the hymn of the fayth. This fayth didn’t seem to have an associated element, so there hadn’t been any other indication that they were going the right way. It didn’t get warmer or colder, for example. Still, they were all at a bit of a loss when they reached the entrance to the chamber. There had been no sign of Thorin, so he might be within. Yevon’s taboos still ran deep though, and none of the dwarves were in a hurry to check. Not when defiling the chamber of the fayth was listed as one of Thorin’s crimes. So of course, the task fell to Bilbo.

Bilbo’s hope that the door just wouldn’t open without a summoner quickly proved to be groundless, as the door slid open without a pause. There was no avoiding it then, and he would have to hope this fayth was as forgiving as Shiva.

Thorin was kneeling before the fayth, a tall, blond elf who practically radiated power. He wasn’t like Shiva, whose power was obvious everywhere, a constant reminder of her unquestionable strength. It was like an invisible pressure, nearly forcing Bilbo to join Thorin on his knees. It didn’t appear to be conscious on the part of the fayth though, because he smiled when he noticed Bilbo.

“So this is the hobbit,” he said, his voice light and musical. For some reason, that statement made Thorin noticeably redder.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Bilbo told the fayth. “We were looking for Thorin, and had to make sure he was here.” He exchanged a quick look with Thorin, who made a slight movement with his head. Permission to continue, he guessed.

“Like Shiva, I get few visitors who are not summoners,” the fayth replied with a dismissive wave. “And summoners are all business.”

“You know about that?” Bilbo asked, realizing how stupid it sounded once it was out of his mouth. Gandalf had said the fayth were all connected. Of course he would know.

“There are few left who know her story,” the fayth admitted. “She was glad to know that some still wanted to know.”

Bilbo knew an invitation when he heard one. “What about your story? You feel different from the others.”

The fayth smiled again. “That is because I was born before Sin.”

That was enough to make Thorin look up. “How can that be?” he demanded.

“I am not the first fayth you have spoken to for whom that was true,” the fayth told him. “The very first fayth, who controls the aeon Valefor, was born before Sin as well.”

“But why-” Thorin began, though he fell silent when the fayth raised a hand.

“I will tell you, Thorin son of Thrain, because you deserve to know the truth about summoning, and about the aeons. This is my test for you: the truth.”


	16. The Grand Maester's Halls

“Before Sin, there was still evil in the world. A different evil, and yet not so different. Many Elves died before this foe, many Men, many Dwarves. Little could harm it, aside from the magic Elves once possessed.” The fayth spoke in a storytellers voice, smooth and soothing, transporting them to a time far beyond living memory.

“The magic of the Elves?” Bilbo asked, ignoring the way Thorin glared at him for interrupting.

“The power to become aeons,” the fayth replied. “Before Sin, it was considered a temporary matter. When we die, we can be re embodied. But sometimes, it is best to wait a while before doing so. Feelings may still be raw, or we may not be ready to fully return. In those cases, the Valar would put ones’ soul in a stone statue, and for a time you would offer your power to those still fighting. Then, when you were ready, you would be reborn.”

“The Valar?” Bilbo and Thorin both asked at the same time. That surprised Bilbo more than anything. Thorin always had the answers about his world.

“The creators of this world,” the fayth told them. “They gave this gift only to the elves, because only there did it make sense. For all others, death is permanent.”

“Then how-” Bilbo began, only to be silenced again by that hand.

“The birth of Yevon changed that,” he said simply. “Now all could offer their souls, in his corruption of summoning. That is why I have no element. I became an aeon in the original way, not the new way.”

Bilbo pursed his lips in thought. There was more to it than that, if only he could tease it out. “How did you become a fayth, then? I doubt there are many left who remember your story, either.”

“It is not the most pleasant story,” the fayth admitted.

“They never are,” Thorin muttered.

This time, the fayth laughed. “No, I suppose that is true. My name was once Glorfindel, and I lived most of my life in a kingdom that no longer exists. It was hidden, the location kept secret to avoid discovery by the evil of that time. Then, one day we were discovered. The city fell, and the people fled. I was a captain of the guard, and I covered their retreat. I was cornered by a beast comparable to a Sinspawn. I killed it, but at the cost of my own life.” He sounded far more detached saying this than he had when describing the old way of becoming aeons.

“And then you decided to give your people your power even in death,” Thorin surmised.

“Yes,” Glorfindel admitted. “Elves take a full century to reach maturity. I would not be able to fight again for a long time. So I became Bahamut, and gave my people a dragon of their own.”

“Why did you never go back to being alive, then?” Bilbo asked curiously. “You still could, couldn’t you?”

“I could,” Glorfindel allowed. “But not long after, in a relative sense, Sin was born. It felt like my people needed me more than ever.”

Bilbo remembered Shiva’s words about sacrifice, hearing them now with new ears. He could feel Glorfindel’s power, and not all of it was due to how his aeon had been made. Part of it was because he could come back to life if he chose, and end his time as a fayth, but for the sake of his people, he hadn’t. It was a tremendous sacrifice, when you considered that most of the other fayth had been facing more permanent ends. Of course, Shiva had been referring to Thorin’s death, and how it was worthless if he wanted to die, but Bilbo was choosing not to focus on that at the moment. Sacrifice was a key component in all of this.

Thorin apparently didn’t want to focus on that either. “What is Sin?” he asked. “What is Yevon?”

“Both good questions,” Glorfindel observed. “But also difficult to answer, and you will understand better after reaching Zanarkand. Suffice it to say that Yevon is both good and evil, and Sin lacks motivations of that kind. It merely acts.”

“It’s not malevolent?” After all he had seen, Bilbo somehow found that harder to believe than anything else.

“No,” Glorfindel agreed. “It acts on instinct.” He turned from them suddenly, as if distracted. “You are being followed. Take my power, Thorin son of Thrain, and say nothing of what I have told you.”

“I will say nothing,” Thorin replied with a formal air, and their contract was complete. Glorfindel faded, his light flowing into Thorin as Shiva’s had done, and then the elf was gone.

Sadly, it hadn’t been fast enough for them to avoid capture. Warrior monks were waiting outside the chamber, the other members of the company already under heavy restraint. As before, Thorin said nothing as they bound him, keeping his head high and his eyes staring straight ahead even as they whispered amongst themselves that the rumors were true. The warrior monks were less gentle with Bilbo, having seen him emerge from the chamber with Thorin. He was still sore from landing in the desert, and the mailed fists really did nothing to help.

They were brought to a chamber shrouded with mist, where Thorin was forced onto a floating platform to address the waiting Maester Saruman. 

“So, despite everything, you would still address the fayth,” Saruman observed disinterestedly. As if he had somewhere else that he should be!

“It is a summoners right and duty,” Thorin replied, as if he was speaking to a child. “If the fayth approve a summoner, none may bar them from entering.”

“You still stand accused of heresy and sedition,” Saruman reminded him with a touch more irritation. “Your guardians crash-landing on the execution platform did nothing to remove those charges.”

“But perhaps those charges were laid a little hastily,” Gandalf suggested, cutting off whatever angry retort Thorin had been readying. “I was present when Summoner Thranduil suggested ending his own pilgrimage, and Thorin here was properly offended at the very notion.”

“Summoner Thranduil has testified that Summoner Thorin suggested the idea to him,” Saruman replied, eyebrows raised.

“And in this instance, is any testimony credible?” Gandalf asked. “Neither would want to admit that they suggested such a thing, and all of the witnesses might be said to be partial to one side over the other.”

Saruman glanced irritably at one of the waiting priests, who immediately scurried off. “Let us leave that matter aside, then. There is still the fact that one of his guardians has been witnessed leaving the chamber of the fayth on two occasions. Surely you cannot deny that?” He was smirking down at them now, as if he had them exactly where he wanted them. Bilbo didn’t like that one bit, least of all because this time it was his fault.

“And yet the fayth continue to grant Thorin their power,” Gandalf observed. “If they found this behavior offensive, they could easily stop his pilgrimage in its tracks, but they do not. Surely this means that it is not heresy at all.”

“There are things the fayth are willing to overlook if they see true potential,” Saruman replied dismissively. “We must be stricter about rules, and obedience to the old ways. Still, we cannot ignore their judgement. You will all face the Via Purifico. If you emerge alive, then Yevon has judged you worthy of continuing your pilgrimage. If not, well… The sentence will have been carried out.”

Apparently he didn’t mean all of them, though. When the warrior monks appeared, they grabbed the dwarves and Gandalf, but they didn’t seem to see Bilbo at all. Even when he followed, and the dwarves were placed in giant suspended cages to await their trip into the Via Purifico, no one moved to touch him, or force him into the cages with them.

After several attempts to get their attention, he realized that none of the dwarves could see him either, except perhaps for Thorin, who stared in his direction unerringly. So he waited, tucking his feet under him and sitting as close to the cages as he could get. Warrior monks came and went, priests passed through and prayed over the dwarves, but no one took them out of the cages, and no one noticed Bilbo.

“Do you think he was lying?” Dwalin asked after several hours of this, tugging on the bars of the cage to see if they had any give to them.

“Saruman is simply getting things ready,” Gandalf assured them. “Doubtless he wants to fill the Via Purifico with as many dangerous fiends as he can find, to decrease our odds of survival.”

“What happened to Bilbo?” Fili asked, looking about the room in concern. “He never made it into the cage with us.”

“Even though they claim that he is the source of my crimes, when push came to shove they didn’t even notice him,” Thorin replied heatedly. “He’s probably long gone by now.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to object at such a gross mischaracterization, but Thorin shot him a look and he closed it again. Were they being watched? He hadn’t thought Thorin was a very good liar. Maybe he was wrong about that.

Balin at least seemed to see through the deception, as he followed the direction of Thorin’s gaze with a thoughtful expression, but where Thorin’s stare made it clear that he knew exactly where Bilbo was, Balin’s eyes wandered. He still couldn’t see him. Interesting.

Eventually, after the dwarves had gone through every card game and song they knew, the warrior monks finally returned. Roughly, they seized each dwarf and Gandalf individually and dragged them off in different directions, binding their hands with iron manacles. Bilbo was left with a choice: who did he follow?

As Thorin was the only one who could apparently see him, the choice wasn’t that hard to make. Before the monks were too far apart, Bilbo grabbed the keyring hanging from one of their belts. Then he hurried after Thorin down a long series of twisting passages that seemed to go down without end, until they reached a wrought iron gate. Thorin’s mouth twisted in displeasure when he saw it. Dwarf made, Bilbo guessed, noticing the way a vein pulsed in Thorin’s throat as the guards tore at the locks.

Once the gate was open, Thorin was tossed roughly inside, leaving Bilbo to scurry after him before they closed the gate again.

“Good luck to you, summoner Thorin,” one of the warrior monks said mockingly as they slammed the gate in his face and extinguished the external lights.

Thorin waited only until he heard their footsteps fade down the corner. “Get these off me,” he practically growled, tugging uselessly off the manacles. “You grabbed the keys, yes?”

“Right here if you will wait a second,” Bilbo scolded, letting the keys jangle as he knelt to find the right one for Thorin’s manacles. “They never intended to give you a fair shot, did they?”

“No,” Thorin agreed, holding his wrists out for Bilbo. “That is why I asked Shiva to hide you. We needed someone on the outside, and you manage to go unnoticed without help often enough. I thought Maester Saruman might not notice if you just disappeared.”

“How did you do that?” Bilbo asked in amazement. The wrong key made a harsh sound in the lock and he tried another.

“Ice can be reflective, and water distorts images,” Thorin explained impatiently. Fiends were starting to smell them and approach. “I asked her to make you reflect the scenery to avoid notice.”

“And you just expected me to know what to do?” Another bad key.

“I’ve learned that it’s better to keep my expectations high with you,” Thorin admitted, watching the fiends warily. 

The lock clicked, and the manacles fell from Thorin’s hands. “Oh. Well, thanks,” Bilbo said lamely.

“Your work isn’t done yet,” Thorin informed him imperiously. “The others are still bound. I need you to find them and free them, while the fiends can’t see you.”

“What about you? Isn’t maintaining that illusion hard on you?” Not that Bilbo had any intention of letting the others die because of their manacles, but it sounded like Thorin wanted him to go on alone. At least the dwarves had been allowed to keep their weapons, though they wouldn’t do much good if they couldn’t use their hands.

“I could use the practice,” Thorin replied nonchalantly. “Go. You’ll travel faster alone. I’ll keep the fiends occupied.”

This sounded a lot more like a Thorin plan than all of the forethought that had gone into making Bilbo invisible. It was comforting, in a way. Thorin was still Thorin, even after nearly being executed. There wasn’t time to question this rather poorly thought out plan, though. The others could probably fight with their hands bound, but it would be hard, and they didn’t have a healer. So, without another word to Thorin, and against his better judgment, Bilbo ran deeper into the Via Purifico.

The entire place was dark and damp, almost like a cave. The only light came from strange red spheres in the wall, which only served to give the place an eerie glow. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Yevon had a flare for the dramatic. The whole place was a maze, except Bilbo couldn’t use the normal trick to get out. Periodically the passage ended abruptly, terminating in a transporter. Without knowing where the transporters went, he might never make it out. And considering the large metal grates he saw in the walls periodically, a part of him worried that the place could be flooded if they took too long.

He was beginning to see why no one had really liked Gandalf’s plan. Finding one’s way in the Via Purifico wasn’t a trivial matter. If he’d been forced to fight the fiends he encountered, there was no telling if he’d ever manage to find anyone.

“Who’s there?” It was Kili, thankfully alone for the moment, his eyes moving rapidly in every direction. Apparently Bilbo’s footsteps were more audible in this echoey cave. “I warn you, I’m armed!”

“It’s me,” Bilbo assured him, approaching as he would a wild beast. No sudden movements, even though Kili couldn’t see him. Unlike Thorin, Kili’s hands had been bound behind his back. If he did too much twisting about trying to find Bilbo, he could easily hurt himself, and wouldn’t that be fun to explain to Thorin?

“Bilbo?” Kili squinted in his general direction. “It must be a trick. I can’t see you.”

“Your uncle thought it would be helpful to use his aeons to make me invisible,” Bilbo assured him wryly, still approaching slowly. “I have the keys.” He let them clang against each other for good effect.

The tension went out of Kili’s body all at once, and Bilbo jogged the rest of the way toward him to once again play a rousing game of ‘find the right key.’ He was on his third when something seemed to occur to Kili.

“Where’s uncle?”

“Off being hard-headed,” Bilbo muttered. “His hands are free so he’s probably fighting fiends and wandering aimlessly.”

“You left him alone?” Kili sounded scandalized. “Uncle has no sense of direction. He’s got no chance of finding anything on his own!”

No wonder no one ever let Thorin lead.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find him again,” Bilbo assured him as the lock finally clicked and Kili’s hands were freed. “We just have to follow the shouting in dwarvish.”

He sounded more confident than he felt, especially as he left Kili to try and find another bound dwarf. It would be nice to have someone who could fight around, especially as he snuck past some of the larger fiends, but there was no helping it. Kili was as stealthy as a falling boulder, and stealth was the only thing keeping Bilbo alive at the moment.

He probably deserved the way he practically tripped over Fili. The young dwarf had been knocked out by a hard blow across his head, judging by the darkening bruise on his forehead. A present from one of the warrior monks, Bilbo suspected. At least getting the shackles off him was easier than it had been for Kili, though it took quite a bit of shaking to get the lad awake.

Bilbo took off as Fili’s eyes cleared. It would be easier to explain waking up on the floor of the Via Purifico than being shaken by an invisible person. Something told him he didn’t have time to waste.

Dwalin wasn’t far from Fili, and Bilbo saw why the fiends had been ignoring the younger dwarf. Despite his hands being bound (in the front like Thorin), he was still smashing fiends with his axes and knuckle-dusters, shouting what were probably expletives in dwarvish. The noise was such that Bilbo couldn’t raise his voice loud enough to attract Dwalin’s attention, so he had to wait for Dwalin to finish fighting before making himself known.

“The lads?” was Dwalin’s first question, apparently already aware that Bilbo’s invisibility was Thorin’s fault.

“Fine, though you might want to help out Fili,” Bilbo told him frankly, finding the right key on the first try. “The monks roughed him up a bit and he’s just up that hallway there.”

Dwalin was off without another word, and that left Balin and Gandalf. And hopefully Thorin hadn’t gotten himself killed in the meantime.


	17. Escape

Gandalf, as it turned out, did not need help. Either out of respect for his history or for some less fathomable reason, Gandalf had not been manacled. Or maybe manacles couldn’t hold him. Either way, when Bilbo found him, the legendary guardian was muttering over a crystal on his staff, until the crystal started to glow with a bright light. No fiends were approaching him, probably blinded by the light, and he looked completely unharmed.

After trying and failing to get his attention, Bilbo decided he’d wasted enough time, and set off in search of Balin. By now his stamina was running short. True, his legs had definitely grown stronger from all this walking, but he was still a hobbit. Running around a maze while avoiding murderous fiends would have anyone huffing and puffing. He was going to be scandalously thin when all this was done. Maybe he would demand nine meals a day for a while, just to get back to a comfortable weight.

Skidding around a corner to avoid sharp fins coming dangerously close to his face, Bilbo found Balin. He wasn’t alone, but thankfully it wasn’t fiends keeping him company. Thorin was with him, his hair damp with sweat and the general moisture of the place, and his eyes wild with battle fury. Cuts and scrapes dotted his arms and face, but Balin at least looked okay, if still manacled. There were no obvious open wounds on him, anyway.

“I’m here,” Bilbo said from a safe distance, in case Thorin got startled and decided to swing at him. As with the others, he jangled the keys to announce his location.

Balin staring vaguely in his direction, but Thorin found him immediately. A feeling like cold water being dumped over his head spread through him, and then Balin’s gaze on him sharpened, his mouth open from surprise. Bilbo knew immediately that he was visible again.

“How…?” Balin asked, unable to articulate the question as Bilbo darted forward and started trying the keys. Then realization dawned in Balin’s eyes. “You might really defeat Sin, Thorin. I never knew the aeons could be used in such ways.”

“I imagine Yevon will charge me with ‘corrupting the sacred aeons’ if they find out,” Thorin muttered, finally noticing the cuts on his arms. Light erupted from his fingers as he set about healing them. “Where are the others?”

“Balin’s the last,” Bilbo admitted, tossing aside a bad key. “All the others are free, and moving toward each other. I know where Gandalf is, and he knows the way out, so we should find him.” The key turned in the lock with a satisfying click, and Balin was free. Bilbo tossed the remaining keys into a corner. He doubted the warrior monks would stop locking people up just because the keys were missing. Might as well leave them here for their next unfortunate victim to find if they could.

“Let’s go,” Balin agreed with a look at Thorin, who simply nodded.

Gandalf was exactly where Bilbo had left him, though this time he actually noticed the hobbit. The clomping footsteps of the dwarves probably helped. They set out again, in search of Dwalin, Fili, and Kili, this time with a shield of brilliant light protecting them from oncoming fiends.

“I cannot hold it forever, but it should make it faster to navigate the maze,” Gandalf explained. “If, as you claim, Fili is wounded, we need to hurry.”

Thorin didn’t need telling twice. He led the charge through the labyrinth, concern for his nephew practically radiating off him. That, and a clear to desire to hurt the people responsible. It made Bilbo curious about how Thorin must have looked the day his brother was killed by Sin. The fury burning in his eyes now was probably nothing compared to how it must have been on that day.

Fili was at least conscious when they found him, along with his brother and Dwalin, but the way he was clutching his head, his eyes hazy and unfocused, suggested a serious head injury. Thorin set about healing it immediately, his jaw clenched tightly with barely contained fury even as Fili weakly joked about how he’d had worse. Bilbo was about ready to bang down the doors of Bevelle himself in search of the warrior monk responsible.

“How are your reserves?” Balin asked Thorin once he was finished. Fili was still a bit woozy, but he could stand without assistance. The rest would have to wait.

“I’m fine,” Thorin insisted, straightening up.

Balin tsked. “You kept up that illusion on Bilbo, and healed a serious injury. You can’t have much power left, and we don’t know how much longer we’re going to be in here,” he scolded.

“The exit is not far, if I recall correctly,” Gandalf offered, though he didn’t sound at all certain. “Saruman may have someone guarding the exit, however. Caution, I believe, would be wise.”

The dwarves all insisted that they could handle whatever might be in their way, so Gandalf led the way through more identical-looking passageways, all lit by the same dim lights and dripping with moisture. By the time they reached a passageway with no forks, suggesting that they were nearing the end, Bilbo understood how someone could easily get lost and die down here. Fueled by adrenaline before, he’d run around without getting discouraged, but after enough time, that simply wouldn’t be enough. As energy ran out, and with fiends not really a viable food option given their tendency to vanish when killed, wandering the maze would feel like a waste of effort.

Finally, they passed into a small room, and someone was waiting for them. Bilbo recognized the ramrod-straight back, the dark hair and piercing eyes.

“Summoner Morwen?” He said in disbelief, noticing that her guardians were conspicuously absent.

She nodded. “A summoner going astray is a problem for every summoner,” she said, addressing Thorin alone. “When Yevon asks, we must obey. I cannot let you pass and bring shame upon the rest of us.”

“Then we will go through you,” Thorin replied, though he didn’t draw his sword. He didn’t really want to fight her, and Bilbo wished Saruman was there to see it. If anything, that was the strongest proof that he hadn’t tried to bribe Thranduil.

“Wait.” Morwen bit her lip, and Bilbo was surprised. Even if only for a moment, he’d seen her doubt, when she was probably as rigid and stubborn as Thorin. “Let us have a summoner’s duel. If you can’t beat me, you can’t beat Sin. If you can beat Sin, then what Yevon says doesn’t matter.”

Thorin didn’t even hesitate. “I accept.”

Balin’s mouth was a tight line, their earlier conversation about Thorin’s reserves no doubt at the front of his mind, but he didn’t object. Neither did any of the other dwarves. Bilbo understood it now, though he didn’t like it. They weren’t going to do or say anything that suggested Thorin might have a weakness. It was only the knowledge that there was no other way out of this that made Bilbo join them in silence, though worry tore at him as he watched.

When Thorin called his first aeon, the flames of Ifrit causing the dripping moisture to turn into fog, Bilbo realized instantly that Thorin was going to win. Morwen chose her aeon wisely, attacking Ifrit with the opposing element, but Ifrit moved too quickly, and her Shiva didn’t seem to hit as hard. The strength of the summoner affected the strength of the aeon, but if that was all they were testing, Thorin and Morwen could have fought each other to the same outcome. There was something else in play here, and it became even clearer when Morwen’s Shiva was defeated, and Thorin responded to her Bahamut with his own Shiva.

Shiva’s kicks were like lightning compared to Morwen’s Shiva, and she always managed to get out of the way of Bahamut’s attacks at the last second. Thorin never gave her any verbal commands; instead, she would glance at him briefly, and then move, as if following silent orders. 

There was a bond between Thorin and his aeons that the other summoner lacked. With Shiva at least it made sense. Thorin had broken the rules by bringing Bilbo along, and they’d spoken to Shiva, reminded her of who she used to be. Ifrit probably didn’t need much from Thorin, being his ancestor. He approved of Thorin’s path, and his devotion to his duty, and the connection between them was just naturally stronger than it would be with others as a result.

Morwen was a perfectly capable summoner. Even Bilbo, with no experience outside of Thorin’s company, could see that. But she’d been taught Yevon’s doctrine, and consciously or not, it had probably influenced her, and the way she handled her aeons. She probably kept them at a distance, thinking of them just as tools to achieve a goal, even if they had once been living, breathing people. The dwarves weren’t like that, though it seemed odd that only the seven dwarf fathers had ever managed to defeat Sin if they were all as open-minded about doctrine. 

Maybe there was another factor. Maybe it was just something about Thorin. It was in that moment, watching Thorin’s Bahamut strike down Morwen’s last aeon, that Bilbo realized he was no longer even close to being an impartial judge. He could say it was Thorin’s stubbornness that they liked, or his charisma, or the way he stood with his head held high even in the face of death as they had done. But maybe he was just thinking of himself, and what he liked. Did the aeons even think Thorin had charisma? Did he? The stubbornness dominated, more often than not.

“I’m glad,” Morwen admitted as her last aeon dissolved in light. “I didn’t want to believe that you had strayed from your path. If a dwarf, beings who are known for being extremely single-minded, could stray from a pilgrimage, I wondered what it meant for me.”

“You mean to continue, then?” Thorin asked, dismissing Bahamut. “If you cannot defeat me-”

“-Then I cannot defeat Sin,” Morwen finished for him wryly. “But still, I have to try. It may take me a little longer than I had anticipated to have the necessary strength, that is all.”

“Even if it means dying?” Bilbo covered his mouth quickly, but it was too late. His heart throbbed when he saw Thorin look away from him.

“You cannot have something for nothing,” Morwen told him. “The Calm requires a sacrifice.”

“It’s not… it’s not right,” Bilbo said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. He felt so helpless in the face of their resolve.

“Bilbo.” Gandalf put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We must go before we are missed.”

There was a lump in his throat, so Bilbo just nodded, and followed the company out of the Via Purifico. It was alarmingly quiet when they emerged into the light, and the dwarves set off down the long road at a run. There was no sign of any warrior monks, or any people at all. Just a long bridge, leading to Macalania Woods in the distance.

“They’re just going to let us leave?” Kili almost sounded disappointed.

“That was the deal we made with Saruman,” Gandalf reminded him. “Just in case though, I would not advise turning around to ask him about it.”

Even when they reached the woods, they only slowed to a jog. Gandalf took the lead then, guiding them to a small clearing near what he claimed was the entrance to the Calm Lands.

“We should rest here for the night,” he told them in a tone that suggested he would not tolerate arguing. Then, when it was clear that no one intended to argue, he set about muttering over Fili, to finish the healing that Thorin had started. Dwalin and Balin went looking for any useable firewood to cook dinner over, and Kili went hunting. Their provisions had all been taken in Bevelle, so if he didn’t find anything, they were going to go hungry for a while. Bilbo’s stomach rumbled piteously at the very thought. He was already at least five meals behind. Any more would take him out.

Thorin sat silently at the corner of the campsite, even when Kili returned with some rabbits, and Dwalin and Balin found some firewood. Bilbo had to bring him some stew when it was finished, which Thorin accepted without looking at him or speaking to him. He ate it silently, and left the campsite equally silently. It was only when he came to collect the empty bowl that Bilbo realized Thorin was gone.

“Where’s Thorin?” he asked, his heart rate climbing as the dwarves looked around and shrugged. 

“Probably went to take a piss,” Dwalin muttered with a shrug.

“There could be warrior monks in these woods, and we only just got him back!” Bilbo didn’t wait for a reply before stomping out of the campsite. He knew they were all too tired to worry anymore, but what would it all be worth if they lost Thorin again?

Thorin wasn’t on the path, but Bilbo saw the faint outline of a heavy pair of bootprints leading to the spring across from the campsite. Squaring his shoulders and mustering the full force of his righteous indignation, Bilbo followed the footsteps to the spring. The sight that greeted him nearly stole the air from his lungs. 

He was used to the crystalline trees by now, but the tree in the center of the spring was incomparably beautiful. There was a strange orange glow coming from the center of the trunk, where it was probably incubating a sphere. The glow was strangely hypnotic, to the point that he almost bumped into Thorin without realizing it.

“There you are!” Bilbo exclaimed.

Thorin was sitting on the bank of the spring, staring out at the tree. At Bilbo’s cry, he turned to look at him, his expression tight and pained.

“You shouldn’t have wandered off,” Bilbo scolded him, moving to sit beside the dwarf. “There could be warrior monks in these woods, and we only just rescued you from them.”

Thorin snorted. “It feels like so long ago that I was telling you that,” he admitted, turning back to the tree.

“You should take your own advice,” Bilbo replied tartly. “You also told me not to put myself in danger, but I saw you up there, on that platform. You were going to let them kill you on their terms. Why?”

“In the beginning, I fought them. I fought until my strength ran out, and then they clapped me in dwarven irons and took me to Saruman,” he explained bitterly. “He gave me a choice: die with dignity, or fight to the end. If the latter, my guardians would share my fate.”

Bilbo’s hands twitched, as if they were reaching for his sword. “He used us as bargaining chips, when he didn’t even have us?”

“I didn’t know that at the time,” Thorin admitted. “I saw you all pulled upward by a powerful wind, but I didn’t know where it took you.”

“That’s why you were so surprised when we jumped off the airship,” Bilbo realized. “You thought we were in the dungeons somewhere.”

Thorin nodded slowly, but said nothing else. He turned back to Bilbo, his eyes scanning his face as if looking for something. It was only then that Bilbo remembered that he had another bone to pick with Thorin.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the final aeon kills you?” He had meant to ask angrily, to demand why something so important had been kept from him, but seeing the cautious way Thorin watched him, Bilbo just sounded sad. Even after all the trouble they’d gone to, Thorin was still going to die. “I said cruel things without meaning to, all because I didn’t know.”

“I meant to, after Macalania temple,” Thorin told him.

“Why not sooner?” 

“I thought you might… try to leave, if I told you sooner. Then you would die in the wild, murdered by some fiend, and the blame for it would be mine for not considering your feelings,” Thorin explained gruffly, looking at the ground instead of at Bilbo.

“I promised to do what I could to help you,” Bilbo reminded him. “I wasn’t going to leave, even if I do think that there must be another way.”

“There isn’t,” Thorin replied flatly.

“Okay, that’s quite enough of that,” Bilbo declared. “This is why Shiva was so hard on you. Anyone can see you’re in a hurry to die! I don’t know why she eventually accepted you, since obviously that hasn’t changed.”

“I told her I had something to live for,” Thorin told him, his jaw set mulishly.

“And she believed you? I don’t,” Bilbo said flatly. “More like, you have something to die for. More somethings by the day, if your stubbornness is any indication.”

Thorin snorted. “You of all people should believe me, though I’m not surprised that you don’t.”

“Oh really? Why should I ‘of all people’ believe you aren’t in such a fuss to run off and die?” Bilbo knew he was pushing into dangerous territory, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Because what I have to live for is you,” Thorin said simply, his eyes flashing with anger at being forced to say it, and something else that Bilbo couldn’t name.

His jaw dropped. “You have a sister, fine nephews, cousins and brothers in arms who all love you, and you tell me that I’m what you’re living for?” He couldn’t believe it. How could he be in love with this idiot? How could this idiot be in love with him?

“I’m dying to protect them,” Thorin argued. “I’m living for you.”

What could he even say to that? It was romantic in the stupidest possible way. Bilbo was torn between clouting Thorin across the head, and kissing him until he agreed to try and find another way. But then again, how likely was either to work? This was Thorin after all. His entire family had probably tried to dissuade him from the summoner’s path, first with words and then with fists. None of it had worked.

Still, maybe it was worth trying again.


	18. Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently*
> 
> I think the rating is fine where it is, but let me know if you think I should up it.

“That was the clumsiest confession I’ve ever heard in my life,” Bilbo admitted, raising his eyebrows.

“I hadn’t planned on telling you,” Thorin replied, turning back to the tree. “It’s a needless complication.”

“Oh, I see. So I guess you’re not interested in my answer,” Bilbo said, getting to his feet and dusting crystal shards off his knees. “Understandable. It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Wait.” Thorin’s thick fingers wrapped around his wrist and Bilbo stopped in his tracks.

“I thought you said it was a needless complication?” Bilbo reminded him, waiting for Thorin to release him before sitting back down.

“I don’t want you to suffer,” Thorin told him with a frown. “My path is already decided, and the suffering of my people is mine to bear. But you can still choose another path.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s already too late for that.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that he loved him. His heart couldn’t take it, somehow. Something about saying those words felt like a death knell, like acknowledging that Thorin was going to die, and that he was never going to be the same afterwards. Thorin probably felt the same way, considering the roundabout way he’d admitted it.

“Even if you say that I’m somehow your reason for living, Shiva’s right. You’re not really living,” Bilbo pointed out, settling onto his knees so that he was at eye height with Thorin. “You’re just waiting for your execution, like you were in Bevelle.”

“What do you suggest?” Thorin was watching him again, his whole body tensed, like he was expecting a long argument.

“Live,” Bilbo said simply, and that was the only warning Thorin had before the hobbit seized his face and kissed him soundly.

Despite the surprise, Thorin responded instantly, the rough scrape of his beard on Bilbo’s cheeks leaving trails of fire in its’ wake. It wasn’t long before he had pulled Bilbo into his lap, forcing the hobbit to straddle him, his knees pressing into the hard ground. Their hands were everywhere, roaming and exploring each others bodies in a desperate fury. There might not be another chance. That was the only coherent thought in Bilbo’s mind as their tongues met, filling his veins with a very unhobbity warmth. Then again, there was a reason his mother had been one of ten children. It was the Took blood, that was clear.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how Thorin ended up on his back, his long hair fanned out on the ground beneath him, but he wasn’t one to complain about such things. Especially when the dwarf grinned, taking a firm grip of Bilbo’s ample bottom. He looked so much younger like that, his eyes alight with desire and playfulness. The lines in his face smoothed out, and for a moment he didn’t look like a dwarf who had long shouldered a heavy burden. For a moment, Bilbo saw young Thorin, before fire and death had destroyed him.

Bilbo swatted the hands away good-naturedly. “Oh, that’s quite enough of that, you mischevious-” 

In jostling to dislodge Thorin’s wayward hands, Bilbo had pressed rather more sensitive parts of their anatomy together, resulting in choked sounds from both of them. Thorin’s eyes looked practically molten, and it was all Bilbo could do to simply resume kissing him, instead of trying for more. Something told him it wouldn’t be wise, though that didn’t stop him from sliding his hands into Thorin’s shirt, running his fingers through the thick hair on his chest. Thorin, for his part, seemed to enjoy Bilbo’s rounded belly, though for the love of him he couldn’t understand why. It was just part of being a hobbit.

In the end, their feverish kissing was interrupted by a red-faced Kili, who had been given the enviable task of finding out if they’d been eaten by a fiend. He hadn’t said a word, but his strangled shout had been enough to send them flying apart from each other. Then Kili had taken off back down the path, as if chased by Sinspawn.

“We’re going to catch hell for this, aren’t we?” Bilbo muttered as they walked slowly back to camp.

“Likely,” Thorin agreed. He opened his mouth as if to say more, then hesitated, his eyes studying Bilbo’s face.

“What?” Bilbo prompted.

“I’m still going to finish my pilgrimage, to whatever end awaits it,” Thorin said. “I have to finish what my father and grandfather set out to do. But… If you come up with another idea, I’m willing to try it. If it doesn’t involve turning aside and wasting time.”

That would have to be enough for now, Bilbo decided. Thorin would keep his word, he would see to that.

“Even if it’s something ridiculous, like blowing up the mountain?” Bilbo asked, raising his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips.

“Leave that to the Crusaders,” Thorin replied, though his eyes still shone with good humor. Even in light of what they’d been arguing about before, he was more relaxed than Bilbo had ever seen him. It made him wonder what Thorin would be like after a good fuck.

Fili and Kili were bundled up together in a corner of the campsite, their eyes slitted open in an unconvincing imitation of sleep. Part of what made it so unconvincing was that Kili was still breathing heavily from running all the way back to camp. Gandalf sat off to one side, smoking his pipe, though he winked cheerfully at Bilbo when he saw him. Balin and Dwalin were waiting by the fire, sharpening their weapons.

Bilbo gulped. Hopefully neither of those blades were meant to be used on him. 

“Bilbo, if I could have a word?” Balin asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bilbo turned to Thorin, but Dwalin was already dragging him off to the other side of the campsite.

“Sure, of course,” Bilbo agreed, letting Balin steer him to the fire.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, laddie?” Balin asked once Thorin and Dwalin were out of earshot. “Whether he succeeds or fails, Thorin’s not long for this world. I’ve tried everything I can think of to stop him, and something tells me you weren’t any more successful.”

“He said he was going to continue,” Bilbo confirmed. “And no, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I’m convinced it’s a terrible one, actually, but I don’t see how I had much choice in the matter.”

Balin smiled sadly. “We’ll reach the Calm Lands tomorrow,” he reminded him. “You can still stay there, if that’s what you decide. Dís has a Travel Agency there, and I’m sure she’d be glad of the help.”

Bilbo swallowed a comment about how unlikely it was that staying with Dís would cure him of feelings for Thorin. It was kindly meant, and he shouldn’t throw it in Balin’s face. “I told Thorin I would try to find another way to defeat Sin,” he told Balin. “So I’m not going to stay behind without a better reason.”

Balin sighed, looking at him with a wry expression. “You’ve grown since we first found you on the beach,” he observed. “You’re not afraid of this world anymore.”

“I’m still very much afraid,” Bilbo disagreed. “But some things are more important, aren’t they?”

Balin gave a short laugh. “You may change Thorin’s mind yet. He wavered for years, you know. He wasn’t sure if he should follow his father’s path, when his only heirs were so young, and everyone around him insisted it wasn’t necessary.”

“What changed his mind?” Bilbo asked, glancing over at Thorin to see him being punched on the arm by Dwalin.

“He met a very unique woman,” Balin admitted. “She was very small, and not so young anymore, but there was a fire burning in her eyes that rivaled our hottest forges. She told him that she would defeat Sin, so there was no decision that he needed to make.”

“My mother,” Bilbo surmised.

“So I believe,” Balin agreed. “As you know, she was never seen again. That was the turning point. Thorin believed her failure was his punishment for wavering in his duty, as little sense as that might make.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, feeling somehow that it was his fault. The old guilt gnawed at him, that she was dead because he hadn’t been able to give her enough to live for. Now the idea that Thorin’s death was bound up in that too was almost too much to bear.

“Don’t be,” Balin assured him. “The effect your mother had on him makes me think that you can convince him of the opposite, given enough time. The problem is, we have almost none left.”

“I’ll figure something out,” Bilbo promised. “Maybe the Crusaders are on to something this time.”

“Maybe,” Balin allowed, but his sad smile suggested that he really didn’t believe it. The grim look Dwalin was giving Thorin said the same. But then, why had Gandalf brought him along if not to do something unbelievable?

\----

When Bilbo woke up the next morning, two pairs of wide eyes were leaning over him, thick fingers prodding his sides. He blinked blearily, and realized that his eager assailants were just Fili and Kili. Bilbo rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, swatting their hands away absently.

“It’s time to get up,” Fili told him with a sharp prod.

“Come on, we need to talk to you about something,” Kili hissed, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Before we get to the Calm Lands,” Fili added.

“Make it quick,” Bilbo grumbled, swatting at their hands again until the poking stopped. “I’m not accustomed to giving in to demands from noisy hooligans.”

“We need to leave the camp, or they’ll hear,” Kili insisted.

It was a very grumpy, disheveled Bilbo who followed them out of the camp. It had taken him a long time to fall asleep the night before, puzzling over what could be done about Sin. Exhaustion had eventually claimed him, but not before he decided that he just didn’t have enough information. What had been different in High Summoner Gil Galad’s time? What had he done that others hadn’t?

It was a question summoners had probably been trying to answer for thousands of years. Or had they? No one ever thought to try talking to the fayth, or so it seemed by how they had reacted, and they had already proven very informative. Was there more they could learn? It couldn’t be as simple as asking them how to defeat Sin permanently, could it?

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, biting back his irritability. “We could just walk and talk as we always do. What’s so important that everyone else has to be asleep?”

“Uncle might not like what we have to say,” Kili admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“Remember when we found you on the beach, and suggested that you become a guardian?” Fili said, as if it had been more than a few weeks ago.

A few weeks! And he was getting tangled up with dwarves on forest floors!

“Of course I do,” Bilbo replied matter-of-factly. “Looking back, it seems like an odd thing to say to someone you found half-dead on a beach.”

“Yes, well, about that.” Kili shuffled with embarrassment. “We kind of thought something like this might happen.”

“Something like- Kili!” Bilbo could hardly believe it. They’d been trying to set him up with Thorin the entire time! Kili hadn’t been afraid or embarrassed when he’d found them at the spring at all: he’d been in a hurry to tell Fili that their plan had worked!

“We’re sorry,” Fili rushed to assure him. “We saw the way Uncle looked at you from the very beginning, and well, we wondered if maybe you could stop him.”

“Well, I can’t,” Bilbo told them bluntly, watching how their faces fell. “That doesn’t mean I’m just going to let him die, but it’s not exactly news to any of us that Thorin’s head is as hard as those rocks you dwarves like so much.”

They brightened immediately.

“Really?”

“You have an idea?”

“We’ve been thinking about this for a while, but-”

“-Nothing ever seems to go anywhere.”

“But if it’s the three of us-”

“We’ll think of something together,” Bilbo said, dizzied by their way of talking over each other. “But why did you have to drag me out here for this?”

“Uncle probably wouldn’t be happy if he knew that we tried to set him up to stop the pilgrimage,” Fili admitted. “Mother tried it before, and that’s why they have trouble being in the same room together now.”

Bilbo suspected that wasn’t the only reason, but he kept that to himself. Brothers as close as Fili and Kili might not be able to understand the strain of being two of three, where the balancing middle was dead. He shouldn’t either, being an only child, but his mother had more than enough stories of her siblings to give him some idea. One of her brothers, his uncle, had gone on a journey and never returned. Another hobbit lost in Spira, perhaps?

He shook his head to clear it. There was no point in wondering over an uncle lost before he’d even been born.

“You think Thorin isn’t onto the pair of you already?” Bilbo asked. 

They froze.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kili admitted.

“Maybe he doesn’t mind?” Fili suggested. “He does like Bilbo after all.”

They went back and forth for a little while longer before Bilbo rubbed his temples. The sun wasn’t even up yet. A fiend could find them, and he wouldn’t even have the strength to run from it.

“I’m going back to bed,” he announced. Neither of them noticed, and he set off for camp with a sigh.

Camp was already awake, Balin stirring a bubbling pot over the fire. They were all bleary-eyed, except for Gandalf, who always looked awake. Dwalin grunted a greeting as Bilbo approached, and Thorin said nothing at all, his eyes tracking Bilbo across the campsite.

“The lads?” Balin asked when Bilbo sat beside him.

“Bickering in the woods,” Bilbo offered, taking a hearty sniff of whatever was in the stew. It was rare for Balin to cook, and he wondered if the result would be edible.

“Ah.”

Dwalin got to his feet heavily, tromping out of the campsite. He returned a few minutes later with Fili and Kili in tow, both of them sporting sheepish expressions.

“So, are you ready?” Thorin’s question was unexpected, and for a moment Bilbo thought it must be meant for someone else. What did he had to be ready for?

“Ready for what?” Bilbo asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Thorin’s expression hardened. “For the Calm Lands.”

That was when Bilbo realized that no, he was not ready. But ready or no, he was going to see them. There was no avoiding the truth any longer.


	19. Home is Behind

There was nothing. Not even a trace of where smials had once been. No broken down garden fences, wildly overgrown crops, or anything else that might had suggested hobbits had been there. Just green grass, stretching for miles until they met the forbidding mountain somewhere in the distance. Bilbo might fool himself into thinking that some of the stranger holes in the ground, places where it rose and fell oddly, were proof that his people still lived here somewhere, but he knew that wasn’t true. They were just scars in the earth, the only sign that Sin had once attacked this place, and utterly destroyed all who had lived there. If any had survived, they would not have stayed here. Especially not with Sin roosting so near.

Yet, even as he looked upon the land where the Shire had once been, Bilbo knew that he hadn’t traveled through time, as some of the dwarves had originally suggested. There was no proof either way, but he knew it instinctively. That didn’t mean that there was a way back home, but Gandalf and Shiva had both said the same thing: his home was safe, and so were the people he’d known. How could that be true, if it was going to be destroyed by Sin eventually? Gandalf might bend the truth, but he wasn’t one to lie directly. There was something here that Bilbo didn’t know, and he was content not to try and figure it out without enough information. He was used to not knowing by now, so it wasn’t overpowering.

The most important thing was, Balin had been right. There was no home for him here. He was alone, the only hobbit left in Spira as far as he knew. Now, he really had no choice. He couldn’t stay here. Leaving the company would mean finding somewhere else to live in Spira, if he wanted that life to last longer than a few days.

No one said anything, though he felt their eyes on him. He couldn’t bring himself to face them. What would he see there? Pity most likely, but maybe understanding as well. Their home had been taken too, though Thorin was now trying to die to take it back. Somehow, their understanding was worse than their pity. This was a world where everyone lost their home at some point, and though it had been terrible before, it was real now. He was more a part of this world now, and faced with the same problems everyone else had. Somehow, they managed. He would too.

“Let’s get going,” Bilbo said finally, breaking the silence and turning back to the company. They were all clearly startled, any pity wiped from their faces by his sudden exclamation. “It’ll take most of the day to reach the Travel Agency, right? Let’s not waste any more time.”

Thorin’s expression softened, and the tension seemed to go out of the company.

“Yes,” he confirmed, coming to stand next to Bilbo. “We should go.”

Once they had descended the cliff that Macalania Woods emptied out onto, the Calm Lands felt endless. A thick fog covered the distant mountain, giving the impression that the grass simply continued on forever. After a few hours of walking on it, avoiding the scars Sin had left hundreds of years ago, it felt like they hadn’t made any progress at all. The fiends were relentless, demonstrating why visitors to these parts were infrequent. Even for curious tourists, wanting to see what the summoners saw, it was incredibly dangerous. Still, Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder: were these fiends the souls of hobbits, killed by Sin so long ago? Were they summoners and guardians, falling just short of their goal? The dwarves would tell him that it didn’t matter, they had to fight them to survive all the same. Knowing might even make the fighting harder. But something told him that it did matter. It was important somehow, to remember that the dead walked Spira, and that they tried every day to drag the living down with them.

Kili pointed out, a noticeable whine in his voice, that they could get across the plains more quickly if they rented chocobos. Thorin replied that if he found the fiends here too taxing to deal with, he would certainly die on the mountain, but he was welcome to stay at the agency with his mother. Kili didn’t complain again.

Periodically the ground would rise and fall suddenly, as if a great earthquake had shaken the land. There was no easy way to avoid these spots without going far out of their way, so the company was forced to climb and jump their way across the plains, until they were all ready to collapse from exhaustion by midday. Seeing the faint, colorful form of the distant Travel Agency, they rallied, but Bilbo could see how much the dwarves longed to discard their winter gear. With the frigid mountain looming, they couldn’t afford to, no matter how uncomfortable it was to jump around in.

“I’m having a hard time seeing what’s so calm about these lands,” Bilbo panted during the afternoon leg. “Between the uneven ground and the constant attacks by fiends, it’s almost as bad as the desert.”

“They’re only called that because no one lives here, and no one except summoners comes here,” Balin admitted apologetically. “Summoners can fight Sin here now without worrying about endangering anyone.”

Bilbo accepted Balin’s explanation without comment, but he wondered if that was all there was to it. He couldn’t help but think the name was the kind of tongue-in-cheek humor that hobbits favored, had any of them still been alive to rename it. Like in Kilika, they hadn’t all necessarily died, had they?

The last leg of their walk to the Travel Agency was taken at a desperate sprint. Thorin’s magic was finally exhausted, their potions were low from the treks through the desert, the Bevelle Underground, and finally here, and powerful fiends had ambushed them. There was no choice but to hope their second, or third, or fourth wind finally kicked in, and to run like hell.

Dís was waiting outside the agency with a huge axe in hand. As the company hurried past her, she stood her ground, bringing the axe to bear against the huge fiends. Only when they were all dead or fleeing did she turn back to the agency to deal with her guests.

“Dinner’s waiting in the kitchen,” she assured them briskly. “Then straight to bed. Anyone could see that you’re all half dead, and you have to reach the base of the mountain tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” Bilbo asked curiously. Even from here, it still looked a long way off. After the day they’d had, he wasn’t sure they could make it the rest of the way in a day.

“Camping on the plains is how many summoners have lost their lives,” Dís told him sadly. “It’s completely open, making it difficult to find a defensible spot, and many of the fiends are active during the night. Once you reach the base of the mountain, there’s a narrow valley to hide in for the night.”

“That valley is no safer,” Dwalin said gruffly. “There’s something unnatural down there.”

“Unnatural how?” Bilbo pressed. He had seen so many things that he would have called unnatural, it was hard to imagine how Dwalin meant it.

“Never you mind,” Balin said, a little more sharply than usual.

The way Thorin raised his eyebrows suggested that he had no more idea about this than Bilbo. “Balin,” he said warningly.

“It’s not something we have to worry about,” Balin insisted. “It has nothing to do with this quest.”

Thorin looked like he wanted to argue, but Dís intervened. “Why don’t you wait until you’ve eaten and rested to decide that?” she said pointedly. “No wise decisions can be made on an empty stomach.”

That was logic Bilbo could entirely agree with.

During dinner, Bilbo didn’t think about this valley that Dwalin and Balin were so secretive about. Instead, he let his mind wander, running through everything he’d learned to see if something useful occurred to him. Had anyone mentioned something that might lead to another way to deal with Sin? Between the various fayth and Gandalf, surely there had been some clue. Was it possible that the problem lay with the corrupted fayth?

Bilbo shook his head lightly. It was dangerous to assume. After all, was there any reason that the Crusader’s plan couldn’t work? Did aeons have to be involved at all?

“You look very thoughtful,” Dís observed with a smile, heaping more food onto Bilbo’s plate. Bilbo didn’t miss the way Thorin’s gaze immediately turned on him. 

“Ah, well, I was just thinking about the book you lent me,” he admitted quietly. It wasn’t completely untrue, considering that it had accounts of previous defeats of Sin. Of the others, only Thorin was paying attention to their conversation, so it felt safe to mention it.

Dís grimaced. “So you did find time to read about our long, glorious line of fools,” she said with a look at Thorin.

“That’s how I learned about what happens to summoners,” Bilbo told her. “No one had mentioned it, and you knew that, didn’t you?”

She nodded slowly. “I thought it might too hard for them to say, but I doubt my dear brother would have liked me telling you for him. So I thought it might be best if I gave a little push.”

“I intended to tell him,” Thorin protested, no longer pretending not to eavesdrop. “We were attacked.”

“Then you should have said something sooner,” Dís replied dismissively. “Really Thorin, it’s one thing to ask people to protect you knowing it’s a suicide mission, but when they don’t know-”

“I know,” Thorin interrupted, his head bowed over his untouched dinner.

“Now now, it’s nothing worth arguing about,” Bilbo insisted. “I know now, and that’s all that matters.”

But the cold silence between the siblings disagreed. They weren’t really arguing about Bilbo, and he knew it. They were having the same argument over and over, under the cover of other ones. If only he could get a chance to speak with Dís alone, maybe she could be convinced to help him! She had to know more, and he finished his dinner hurriedly to give himself a chance to find out.

“Do you have a moment?” he asked her as they collected the plates. He could feel Thorin’s eyes on the back of his neck, but did his best to ignore them.

“Of course,” Dís replied with a backward glance at her brother. “We can talk and wash these dishes. Tired as you all are, I doubt anyone will try to follow us.”

Thorin’s stare was curling the hairs on the back of Bilbo’s neck as they disappeared into the kitchen.

“So, what’s troubling you?” Dís asked once the kitchen door was safely closed behind them.

“Well, I… I’m trying to think of another way to defeat Sin,” Bilbo admitted. “But I realized that I don’t know… what I don’t know, if that makes sense.”

“I want to tell you that trying to save my brother from himself is a waste of time, but I can’t,” Dís told him, practically tossing him a plate to dry. “The problem is, no one really knows if anyone’s ever defeated Sin another way. Maybe they have, and died in the process anyway.”

Bilbo hadn’t even considered that. “But we do know that the Crusaders never have, right?”

“Not for certain,” Dís pointed out. “Maybe they have once or twice, and Yevon suppressed it. Or maybe they have, but they had a summoner along and everyone involved died, so people drew their own conclusions. You could tell Thorin that he doesn’t need to have the final aeon, and he might agree to fight Sin without it, though the chance of that is very slim, and die anyway.”

There was another sobering thought. Still, if anything, that suggested that there really must be another way. At the very least, there was nothing to say that there couldn’t be. At the rate people died and cities were destroyed in Spira, knowledge would be lost alarmingly quickly. The only ones who might know, who might still remember earlier times… were the fayth. They just hadn’t been asking the right questions, because Bilbo hadn’t known what they were. But were there any more fayth they could talk to? Could Thorin be convinced to turn back and consult one again?

Bilbo already knew the answer. Thorin would not delay his pilgrimage for a baseless idea, and they all risked arrest in the process. So what options did he have left?

“Did that help at all?” Dís asked.

“Yes, actually,” Bilbo said with a nod. “Will the Crusaders come through here, do you think, on their way to the mountain?”

Dís’ expression darkened as she remembered the intended operation. “They might, though I know for a fact I don’t have room for them all.”

“Could you try to slow them down?” Bilbo asked her. “I think our best chance might be to work together with them, and if they blow the mountain while we’re on it, or while we’re in Zanarkand, we won’t be in a position to help.”

“I can try,” Dís agreed easily. “Though you may have a harder time convincing Thorin to work with them.”

“I know, but I think I can manage it,” Bilbo replied. “Thank you for your help.”

“Not at all,” she assured him with a smile. “You’re trying to keep my idiot brother alive. And you’re right, I think he just might listen, if you ask him the right way.” She winked, and Bilbo felt his ears warm.

“Yes, well… good evening,” was all he could manage before backing out of the kitchen and bumping into something solid.

Bilbo turned to look up at his obstacle, and blessedly, it was only Dwalin. At the beginning of their journey, he never could have imagined thinking those words, but now it felt natural. Especially when he met the dwarf’s eyes and he gave an obvious wink. It looked a little strange on his face, but Bilbo understood. Dwalin had been watching the door to keep Thorin out, and he couldn’t help but be grateful for it.

Once he was past Dwalin, past Fili and Kili who had apparently gotten their second wind, Bilbo felt his earlier exhaustion return tenfold. He staggered off to bed, falling asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow. It was rapidly becoming the norm for him, to the point where he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to wander into a stranger’s room.

“Good morning.”

Bilbo blinked blearily into the morning light, squinting when he saw something dark blocking most of the direct sunlight. As his vision cleared, he realized with a start that he was looking at a sleep-tousled Thorin, propped up on his elbows and staring at him in amusement. They were undeniably in the same bed. He knew immediately what had happened. Thorin had not been in the common room the night before, so he must have retired early once Dwalin stymied his attempts at eavesdropping. And Bilbo, utterly exhausted, had wandered into the warmest bed he could find: the one with Thorin in it.

“Good morning,” Bilbo replied cautiously. “I’m terribly sorry for the intrusion; I was practically sleepwalking last night.” He had been warm though, so that was one point for his half-asleep self.

Something flickered in Thorin’s eyes- disappointment, perhaps? - but it was gone just as quickly. “We have a long way to go before we can stop today,” was all he said.

Breakfast was awkward. Even Fili and Kili were silent, their normal exuberance dampened by the early hour and Thorin’s forbidding glare. Bilbo tried to imagine what it would have been like had be pretended that yes, jumping in bed with Thorin had been intentional, and shuddered. Was the silence worse, or the teasing that he imagined he would have had to endure?

Just as they were about to leave, Bilbo realized by the glint in Dís’ eyes that he was going to have to deal with both.

“Is it difficult to fit two in one of those beds, Thorin?” she asked, and everyone froze. “You don’t seem to have slept well.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied stiffly.

“Oh, really? I must be mistaken then. I just wanted to see if I should get larger ones. I can’t have summoners getting killed because they didn’t get enough sleep,” she observed slyly. “It’s bad for business.”

Thorin gave no reply, and Bilbo hoped this wouldn’t be the last time they saw Dís. It felt like a terrible shame to let siblings part forever on such terms. But how could it be otherwise unless he found another way to deal with Sin?

It was, as promised, a very long day. Bilbo did what he could to lighten Thorin’s mood, whispering when he thought no one could hear that he’d never slept better, and it seemed to work, but Thorin’s mood wasn’t the only problem. The fiends weren’t any less aggressive on the other side of the agency, and by midday the company was beginning to wonder if they would reach the base of the mountain by midnight. There would be no Travel Agency waiting for them, no ready dinner and warm beds. Just fiends, fiends, and more fiends.

And men running screaming out from under the base of the mountain, as Bilbo discovered once they were under it’s shadow. There was only one man, but by the look Dwalin and Balin exchanged, he could guess where the man had come from.

“What is in that valley?” Thorin demanded, his eyes still following the running man.

Balin sighed. “That, I don’t know. But that valley is where your father died.”


	20. The Unsent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cavern of the Stolen Fayth is one of those things in FFX that's never fully explained. We know there's a fayth there, and it's a pretty different one. We know that people have an overwhelming tendency to die there (there's a sidequest in X-2 about rescuing tourists dumb enough to go on tours of the cave), and the fiends are pretty tough. But the why is all kind of left to your imagination. So, it was ripe for tweaking. Enjoy!

There was no force in all of Spira that could stop Thorin from entering the place where his father had died, and so no one really tried. They spent the night camped in the valley, watching the pyreflies drift lazily out of the cave mouth, and in the morning Thorin walked toward it unerringly. Everyone followed, but even Fili and Kili looked uncomfortable crossing the threshold into the cave. There was very little light that didn’t seem to come from the copious pyreflies, and they cast the place in a sickly green glow.

“I know this place,” Gandalf surprised them all by saying. “They say a man once stole a fayth from a long-forgotten temple, and placed it here.”

“But why would anyone steal a fayth?” It was something Bilbo had wondered about for a while, when the dwarves had mentioned people protecting the fayth. They were dead. What enemies could they still have?

“Well, think for a moment. A summoner’s strength is built by forming bonds with aeons, and using those aeons to fight,” Gandalf reminded him. “With one of those aeons hidden in a cave filled with powerful fiends, fewer summoners would be able to reach it. They might not be strong enough to summon the final aeon as a result.”

“But would that really stop anyone from trying? It sounds to me like a way to get summoners killed for nothing,” Bilbo pointed out.

“Based on your own experiences with summoners, perhaps that seems true,” Gandalf allowed. “But trust me when I say that not every summoner is as stubborn as Thorin. Some, seeing that they stand no chance, would choose to quit, and live instead, risking Yevon’s disapproval.”

Like Bard, Bilbo realized, though he said nothing.

“So grandfather died trying to get this fayth?” Fili realized, turning to Balin for confirmation.

Balin sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. There is something about the pyreflies in this cave. They’re too concentrated perhaps, or they’ve been drawn to too many negative memories. In the end, I just don’t know what the source of it is. It affects some people, making them unstable, violent even. And with each one who dies, killed by the fiends or their own companions trying to protect themselves, the strength of the madness only grows.”

“Is it safe to continue, then?” Bilbo asked with a pointed look at Thorin. “If this place drives people mad-”

“We continue,” Thorin replied stiffly. “If we keep our wits about us, there’s nothing to fear.”

The cave consisted of narrow, twisting passages, as if hollowed out by a giant worm. None of the fiends resembled giant worms in any way, which Bilbo should have found calming, but didn’t. There could always be one waiting deeper inside, he told himself grimly. And didn’t this cave lead under the mountain? What would they do if they encountered Sin down here? They couldn’t even walk more than two across! 

Eventually the path emptied out into a large chamber, seemingly a dead end. The hair on the back of Bilbo’s neck rose. Something was not right here. His foot brushed against something, and seeking something to distract him from the wrongness, he reached down and picked it up. A golden ring glinted benignly in his hand, and something told him to put it in his pocket.

While Bilbo was distracted by his find, it was Kili, having no sense of danger, who walked into trouble. Striding into the open chamber, he put his foot through a trap, and soon vanished in a fog of pyreflies.

“Kili!” The company shouted in one voice, rushing forward heedlessly. The fog cleared as they approached, and Thorin stopped dead at the sight.

Kili lay unconscious to one side. At least he looked unconscious. But that wasn’t what had stopped Thorin. At the center of the cloud, a older dwarf stood, his gray hair and beard matted, and his eyes wild. He seemed almost fuzzy around the edges.

“Who is that?” Bilbo asked Balin.

“That, my lad, is Thrain, Thorin’s father,” Balin admitted, his jaw tight with some emotion Bilbo couldn’t name.

“But you said he was dead?” Bilbo pointed out. “How can he be dead if he’s standing right there?”

“Not everyone who dies without a sending becomes a fiend,” Dwalin told him roughly.

“Not right away, anyway,” Balin chimed in. “If their will to live is strong enough, some retain their forms, and occasionally, their minds. Eventually, the mind goes, and they become a fiend.”

“My father is not a fiend!” Thorin argued fiercely, though his steps toward Thrain were hesitant.

“It doesn’t matter, Thorin,” Dwalin pointed out. “He’s still dead. All you can do is send him.”

“I can’t!” It was the first time Bilbo had ever heard Thorin refuse to do a summoner’s duty. He’d had doubts before about his abilities, but this was different. The sadness in Thorin’s eyes cut him like a knife.

Balin opened his mouth to object, but all he got out was, “Thorin!” before Thrain’s shade raised his arms, summoning a man-shaped aeon Bilbo had never seen before. The aeon didn’t hesitate, drawing its’ sword to attack. They were about to get a test of the stolen fayth’s strength, and if Thorin just stood there, none of it would matter.

“You must fight!” Gandalf insisted, drawing his own sword. “Do not let the dead force you to join them!”

Thorin gritted his teeth and drew his sword.

Fighting an aeon was different. Only Thorin had ever done it, and he had always used other aeons to do it. Bilbo had never realized how slow they really were compared to people, though that was forgotten when the aeon’s throwing knife pierced his arm. Thorin was at his side in an instant to heal the wound, but he didn’t linger. Fili complained of poisoning, and soon Dwalin had a very attractive cut on his bald pate.

It was a hard fight, but the aeon was strangely jerky compared to the normally smooth movements they were used to. It was beatable, and that was what mattered. Even with Kili lying on his back, they were up to the challenge. Bilbo even felt bolder than usual, spurred on by the tragedy of the situation. At least that was what he told himself. Eventually the aeon fell, a savage blow to the chest from Dwalin finishing it, and it vanished with a whisper of pyreflies, leaving only Thrain.

“Send him,” Balin told Thorin sadly. “There’s nothing else you can do for him now. He was already half mad when the fiends took him. Nothing you say can reach him, not when he’s acting entirely on instinct.”

“He could still summon,” Thorin argued. “The dead can’t-”

“No one knows what the unsent can and cannot do,” Gandalf said with surprising gentleness. “But we know that they are dead, and every day that they remain out of the farplane is another day closer to becoming a fiend. It has been many years, decades even, since your father died here. Even if you could reach him, it would not be for long.”

Thorin turned to Bilbo, his eyes pleading for someone, anyone, to disagree with the prevailing sentiment, but Bilbo couldn’t. Thrain just stood there, staring at them blankly. If he were alive, wouldn’t he have recognized his son by now? So, Bilbo shook his head slowly, and reached out to take Thorin’s hand. Thorin’s hand was shaking, but he let Bilbo do it, squaring his shoulders to face his father’s shade.

“Father, I’m sorry,” Thorin said, staring down the unsent.

Strangely enough, Thrain smiled, his blank expression gone for instant. “Thank you, Thorin.”

Bilbo expected this sudden show of recognition to weaken Thorin’s resolve, but it had the opposite effect. His shaking ceased, and he opened his mouth to sing, though he didn’t let go of Bilbo. He was doing his duty as both a summoner and a son by helping his father on the way to the Farplane, and duty was the surest way to improve Thorin’s resolve. Still, the way the dwarves bowed their heads as Thrain faded, the older dwarf humming along to Thorin’s singing, made Bilbo’s heart throb. What a cruel world, where the son on his way to die must first send his father along to an afterlife he might never see! 

People died, and Thorin sang. His singing was beautiful, rich and melodic, but also so very sad. Would the day ever come when summoners were freed from this responsibility? Even if Sin were permanently defeated, wouldn’t there always be people who regretted their deaths? Maybe death was the only way Thorin could be free of this pain. Was it cruel of him to force Thorin to live, if his duty as a summoner meant that he would have to face death in such a visceral way?

Bilbo shook his head lightly. Thorin’s father might still have been alive if he’d never set out on a pilgrimage. This pain at least Thorin could have been spared, if Sin had been defeated. If they found another way, someone else could avoid a similar situation. So there was no choice but to push on.

“What now?” Fili asked, pulling his dazed brother to his feet. “It’s a dead end.”

“There’s a transporter behind you, laddie,” Balin pointed out drily. “It leads to the fayth. But before that, we should pool our resources.”

“Why’s that, Balin?” Bilbo asked curiously, loosening his grip on Thorin. Thorin did not let go.

“This fayth requires a down payment on his power,” Dwalin told them grimly. “Though damned if I know what he does with money as statue.”

“I’ve long wondered if Yevon arranged to have this fayth ‘stolen’,” Gandalf observed. “It would sully their reputation if one of the sacred fayth demanded money for his services, especially as they were never able to pocket it.”

Thorin frowned, but only said, “Turn out your pockets.”

No fiends approached as Balin methodically counted the money, perhaps scared off by Thorin’s Sending, or even Sent themselves. Thorin, still holding tight to Bilbo, set about healing Kili from his scrape with the Unsent, and unfortunately the younger dwarf still had consciousness enough to notice what his Uncle’s other hand was doing. He exchanged obvious significant glances with his brother, while Bilbo silently reddened. He should have known better than to grab onto a rock of a dwarf.

“We should have enough,” Balin finally declared, though he sounded doubtful. “I only hope he hasn’t raised his prices.”

The transporter took them all directly to the fayth, and the dwarves clustered together uncomfortably. It was the first time they’d broken the taboo, Bilbo realized, though this fayth was no longer under Yevon’s jurisdiction. There would be no warrior monks storming into the cave to arrest them for yet another act of heresy. Even Maester Saruman probably assumed they would avoid this cave, and for good reason. Between the pyreflies clinging to the place and a fayth that demanded money, who would be foolish enough to venture inside?

A man rose out of the statue as they watched, a hunting dog at his side. That alone was enough to make them all start. Could animals become fayth too?

“It’s been a long time since anyone lived long enough to find me,” the fayth observed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope it wasn’t for nothing.”

“I understand that you require payment,” Thorin replied, though a muscle pulsed in his jaw. “We are prepared to negotiate.”

“Excellent. What is it that you would use my power for?”

The question seemed to startle Thorin, not expecting the usual fayth proceedings with this one.

“To defeat the most powerful of enemies,” Thorin answered, as if by ritual. “If you require payment, you must be powerful enough for that.”

The fayth raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wrong,” he agreed. “250,000 gil, plus additional payment when summoned.”

It was a staggering amount of money, and Bilbo seriously doubted they had it. He glanced at Balin, but the dwarf was stone-faced. It was a look he recognized from when his mother haggled at the market. The first step in negotiation was not to give away how much money you were carrying, she’d liked to say.

“You can’t have seen the light in decades,” Thorin pointed out. “125,001 gil.”

The fayth shook his head. “Too low. 225,000 gil. And payment upon summoning is non-negotiable.”

Thorin gave no sign that the addition troubled him, but Bilbo knew better. He’d been hoping the fayth would forget about that, and now he’d lost one of the conditions.

“I still have to finish the rest of my journey without starving,” Thorin reminded the fayth. “112,501.”

“You came to me,” the fayth pointed out. “If you can’t afford me, I can wait. I’m in no hurry. 202,500 gil.”

“No wonder Yevon cast off such a degenerate fayth,” Thorin replied. “141,750 is more than such a fayth is worth.”

“Do you think you’re the first of your kind to try insulting me into lowering the price? 190,350 gil, and I’ll go no lower.”

Thorin glanced back at Balin, who gave a slight nod. “We accept,” Thorin told the fayth, taking the heavy bag of coins from Balin and setting them on the statue.

“My power is yours, so long as you pay the price when the time comes,” the fayth replied formally, light flowing from him into Thorin. When it finished, the dwarves moved onto the transporter, but Bilbo wasn’t done yet.

“Wait!” He called to the fading fayth, who seemed to notice him for the first time.

“What do you want?” the fayth asked him, though without the irritated tone he’d used while negotiating with Thorin.

“You never said what your name was,” Bilbo said lamely. “I guess I was curious about who you must have been, if you still want money now.” Actually, he was hoping to get some information about Sin, considering that they weren’t likely to encounter another fayth before Zanarkand, but he doubted this one would be responsive to that.

The fayth laughed. “I’m not about to share my sob story with you, halfling. I know you’re in the habit of extracting them from the others. But in life they called me Isildur. Now I am Yojimbo.”

Thorin and Bilbo, the last still in the chamber, froze.

“Isildur?” Thorin exclaimed in disbelief. “One of the warriors who weakened Sin?”

“Why are you a fayth?” Bilbo asked, as confused as Thorin.

“Like I said, no sob stories,” Isildur replied, though he seemed pleased by their reactions. “If you want to know, take out that ring you found in the cave.”

Bilbo felt like his hand was drawn to it, and it felt strangely heavy in hand as he lifted it and examined it more closely. “It looks like a perfectly normal ring,” he admitted, though it didn’t feel like one. He didn’t like the way Thorin’s eyes lingered on it. It made him want to put it out of sight as soon as he could manage.

“I took that ring from inside Sin, and my luck turned sour that day,” Isildur admitted. “It corrupted me somehow, spreading Sin’s toxin through my mind and body perhaps, and I decided the only hope I had for purification was to become a fayth. Only a corrupted fayth, but it’s something. At least like this, it doesn’t affect me anymore, though it affected the person who stole me, causing them to bring it along.”

Isildur didn’t want to face his father in the Farplane, Bilbo guessed, pocketing the ring again. “I’ll take it off your hands than,” he promised. “Though I doubt it’ll do me any good either.”

“Probably not,” Isildur agreed. “But I’ll knock a little off my summoning prices for your summoner as thanks.”

“Very generous of you,” Bilbo said with a sharp look at Thorin, who was still staring at where the ring had disappeared to.

“I’m grateful,” Thorin said grudgingly, finally turning back to Isildur.

“You may not be by the end of this,” Isildur observed. “Now go, before I think better of it and find another Unsent to test you with.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Bilbo was more than a little concerned that it would soon be his turn to face an Unsent relative.


	21. The Sacred Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI for those of you who didn't play the game: this chapter features one of the weirder plot twists from the game, though with some additions of my own. If you're confused, that's normal, but feel free to ask questions. If they're not gonna spoil the ending, I'll try to answer them.

With the Cavern of the Stolen Fayth behind them, there were no more excuses for delay. They had to climb the mountain once Kili was healed, even though Thorin gazed at it like the sight would break his heart. Healing Kili took longer than usual as a result, but as much as Bilbo might want it to take forever to put off the inevitable, he knew it wasn’t possible.

“Is it safe to climb it?” Bilbo asked as they stood at the base of the mountain. A crumbling stone gate waited for them in the distance, the only evidence he’d seen that anyone had lived here at some point. “Is Sin likely to hear us?”

“Sin is no likelier to find and kill us here than anywhere else in Spira,” Balin assured him, though it wasn’t a very comforting thought. “As long as we do not go inside the mountain, it probably won’t even know we were here. The mountain isn’t paper-thin, you know.”

That seemed to be enough for the dwarves, as they started their ascent without another word. It wasn’t quite enough for Bilbo, though he hurried after them. His feet slipped and slid in the snow, but at least he wasn’t cold.

“‘Probably?’” he prompted Balin.

“Well, it is Sin, after all,” Balin allowed. “The living embodiment of chaos and death. No one can ever really predict what such a creature will do. But previous attempts to retake the mountain have shown that it is fiercely territorial, and unlikely to move from inside unless it is threatened. Again, from inside.”

Bilbo remembered the senseless way the people at Kilika Port had died, and doubted there was really any rhyme or reason to it. But as Balin only seemed capable of making him feel worse about the whole thing, he decided to keep his mouth shut and climb. He had a feeling he was going to need all the energy he could muster.

It was a long, treacherous climb. There were paths carved into the mountain, either by wind and time, or the hands of dwarves, but it was obvious that only summoners had been on the mountain in centuries. The paths were narrow and ice-covered, the rock was crumbling, and here and there they found the frozen and half-eaten bodies of those summoners and guardians who had died there, but had apparently accepted death and not become Unsent. They knew what had happened to the rest, and they presented an equal problem in navigating the mountain safely. Wolf-fiends would charge down paths heedless of the possibility of falling, and it was only a few well-placed strikes from Dwalin, knocking the fiends off the path, that kept the rest of them on it.

Thorin unexpectedly called an immediate halt when they reached a relatively wide overhang, though it was only just sunset. Normally he would have insisted that they march until it was dark.

“The wind is picking up,” he said simply when Bilbo asked, with a look at Fili to set up dinner. “In the dark, we all risk being blown off the path, you most of all. If the snow fall thickens, we’ll simply walk off and fall to our deaths.”

“So the mountain itself is a test,” Bilbo mused, letting Fili drag him off to help. Dís had given them more than enough supplies, and now it was obvious why. Nothing could grow on the mountain, and only fiends could live there for long. Foraging would have been fruitless and even dangerous, and there wouldn’t be any more towns or Travel Agencies waiting on the other side.

“It is considered a sacred mountain, you know,” Gandalf told him, his pipe already out. “They say that when an army came to attack Doriath, a fierce snowstorm came upon them, decimating the army. Those who survived immediately turned back, and told their masters of the mountain’s fury. It did not save Doriath in the end, but people believed that they had prayed to the spirits of the mountain, and it answered to protect them. Over the millennia, that belief is one of the few things to survive Sin’s destruction.”

“That’s why Yevon doesn’t like that we lived underneath it, right?” Fili asked, as if he’d heard the story a thousand times. Maybe he had, if it was the reason Yevon gave for their dislike of dwarves.

“That’s part of it,” Balin agreed with a look at Thorin. “They say it is our fault that Sin dwells here now, that only our defiling of it made such a thing possible.” He shook his head sadly. “Even though they must know it’s impossible to ascribe motives to Sin. They simply wanted an example to show why it is dangerous to accumulate more wealth than they.”

“They don’t care what Sin really wants, if it even thinks or feels,” Thorin replied grimly. “There must always be someone to hate. It’s how they keep control. They give people a common enemy that they can actually hope to defeat.”

“And if you defeat Sin?” Bilbo asked, looking back at where Thorin leaned against the wall. “What will they do then?”

Thorin shrugged, though he didn’t look away. “At best, they will call me the finest of dwarves and my sins will be forgotten. Then they will find someone else to hate, or hold all dwarves to my standard, and keep hating them for not having the strength to put their lives at risk. More dwarves will follow in my footsteps, trying to protect their people from Yevon’s wrath, until there are none left.”

“It never ends,” Dwalin observed irritably.

“Everyone is a sinner until they defeat Sin,” Gandalf said. “Then they are a Champion of Yevon, defender of the people. Whatever else they might have done is erased, and added to Yevon’s long list of secrets. So it has always been. But that does not necessarily mean that is how it will always be.”

“As long as Sin regenerates, the High Summoners cannot speak for themselves,” Thorin pointed out. “They are dead, and their guardians lack the strength to argue in light of what they’ve faced. Those that make it back from the final confrontation always refuse to speak of it, except to say whether or not they won.”

All Bilbo could think was, “as long as Sin regenerates,” and he could tell by the distant look in Gandalf’s eyes that he was stuck on the same words. How many summoners had Gandalf accompanied to their deaths? It had to have been a lot, to earn the title of legendary guardian, but all of those pilgrimages had ended with the summoner’s death. After all of those deaths, it was no wonder Gandalf kept all of what he knew to himself. If he couldn’t find another way after all this time, after so many pilgrimages, how was Bilbo supposed to?

Unconsciously, his hand found the ring in his pocket, and he turned it over slowly, as if somehow it would help him think of something.

\----

Far too soon, they reached the summit of the mountain, and got their first look at Doriath, now the ruined city of Zanarkand. From that distance, there wasn’t much to see except crumbling white stone and a glittering trail of pyreflies above it all, but the sight still had an impact. Even Fili and Kili’s usual relaxed chatter was silenced in an instant as the reality of the situation set in. The end of Thorin’s journey was just ahead, and they were no closer to finding another way.

“Proceed cautiously,” Gandalf advised. “Lady Luthien may send us a giant fiend to defeat as a test, and there are other things on this side of the mountain that we might wish to avoid.”

Bilbo nodded absently at the warning, knowing it was meant for him more than the others, but he wasn’t really paying attention. If he had, he would have noticed Gandalf’s casual reference to someone who should have been dead. His chest hurt as he watched Thorin gaze down at the ruined city, yet he couldn’t look away. He felt like he had to take this opportunity to memorize every line of that face, because he was almost out of time.

“I don’t want you to die,” Bilbo said, the words coming out in a rush. The others had moved on a little way to give Thorin some privacy, and he felt like this was also his last chance to say what he needed to. When would they be alone again?

“This is how it has to be,” Thorin replied firmly, though he didn’t look away from the city. Bilbo knew now what that meant. When Thorin, who had stared so intently at him from the first wouldn’t look at him, it meant that he couldn’t. It meant that he didn’t believe what he was saying as strongly as he might like. It was an opening if Bilbo had ever heard one.

“No, it isn’t!” He insisted fiercely. “No one expects it of you! In fact, unless I’m very much mistaken, your entire family has been rallying for you to quit being a summoner for years! You said you were going to die for them, but they don’t want that sacrifice from you! That means you’re not really doing it for them at all.”

That was enough to get Thorin’s full attention, and he turned on Bilbo, his sharp eyes blazing. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for them. Someday, perhaps they will appreciate that fact, but even if they don’t, it doesn’t change my resolve.”

It was very hard not to wince. Thorin was referring to Fili and Kili, and probably Dís as well, but Bilbo also felt like it was meant for him too. He had promised not to try and stop Thorin without some other idea, but here he was nettling him again. But what else could he do at this point? He was overwhelmed by his own helplessness.

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, anything, but a shout from the company further down the path utterly derailed his chain of thought.

“What in-”

“Are these bodies?” 

“Gandalf, explain this!”

Bilbo and Thorin exchanged a look, each giving a slight nod. This argument wasn’t over, just postponed. Then they took off down the path.

The company hadn’t gone far, halting in front of a strange carving in the side of the mountain. From his current distance, it looked to Bilbo like a sculpture of many people, fused together and also with the mountain. When he got closer, it was sickeningly obvious that he was wrong.

“It’s a fayth,” Gandalf told them grimly. “The last survivors of Doriath banded together to get their revenge on the ones who killed their families and destroyed their city.”

Nausea bubbled up in Bilbo’s throat. “But… so many of them! What could they possibly be summoning?” Even as he said it, the answer was obvious. Sin wasn’t a fiend, born from the resentment of the unhappy dead. Sin was an aeon, a product of the frustrated rage of the living. How he knew it, he couldn’t be sure. But he felt certain it was true, with all of his being.

“Bilbo?”

He heard voices calling his name, but they felt so distant. He could see them nearby, but it was like being trapped in a bubble. His limbs were so heavy, and the world tipped beneath him, until he could see nothing but blackness.

“So you made it here at last.”

The high, crisp voice startled him into opening his eyes. His cheek was pressed into soft green grass, and that immediately told him something was wrong. There was no grass on the mountain. Forcing himself to his feet, Bilbo took in his new surroundings, and the shock drove the breath from his lungs.

He was standing on a hill, in the middle of Hobbiton. There was something a little off about the colors of things, suggesting the onset of autumn, but it was undeniably the Shire as he remembered it.

“How… What is this place?” he asked, simply unable to believe the sight. It was impossible. “This has to be a dream.”

“It is a dream,” the voice agreed, and Bilbo turned in the direction of the sound.

“Shiva! No, Tar-Miriel,” he corrected himself, seeing that she appeared before him as a fayth, not an aeon. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand dreams?” she asked him, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“Well, does anyone really?” He pointed out with a touch of asperity. “But that’s not the point. I passed out, didn’t I?”

“When you saw the fayth,” Tar-Miriel agreed. “It was too much for you, getting so close to the source of your existence.”

“The source of my- what are you talking about?” Bilbo demanded.

“You’ve known for some time that Gandalf didn’t pull you into the future,” she reminded him. “But you couldn’t explain how the Shire would be safe after Sin attacked otherwise. Sin attacked the Shire looking for Gandalf, I think is what he told you.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” Bilbo admitted, though he could barely remember that conversation now.

“But does that sound like the Sin you’ve seen? Leaving as soon as it gets what it wants? Sin is an indiscriminate killer, isn’t it? Why would it track down a specific person?”

Bilbo furrowed his brow. “No, that doesn’t sound like Sin at all,” he agreed. “Why would Sin leave the Shire alone once it had Gandalf?”

Tar-Miriel smiled sadly. “Because your Shire is one of the places Sin protects from the intrusions of the outside world. Every time a city is destroyed, turned into an unsalvageable ruin, the people who manage to survive find themselves in despair. They beseech Yevon to bring back the people they lost, and are given a choice.”

“What choice?” Bilbo demanded when Tar-Miriel hesitated. “What choice could Yevon be giving them?”

“The choice to live and die alone, living with their grief, or to become fayth, and add their memories to the vast dream of the fayth. They are asked to help build dream Spira, a world that death does not touch, and which grows more vibrant as Sin destroys the world of the waking.” 

Bilbo’s breath caught, and he felt the nausea returning. “Then I’m-” He stopped himself. He wasn’t ready to say those words yet. “Numenor?” He asked instead, and Tar-Miriel nodded.

“I too was given that choice,” she told him. “I begged Yevon to save my people, and was told that it was impossible. But, I could bring back their golden age and hold onto it forever if I became a fayth, and dreamed alongside the others. My memories, given shape.”

“But how-” Bilbo stopped himself again, this time to collect his thoughts. “Glorfindel told me that in the past, only elves could become fayth. What was it about the destruction of Doriath that changed that?” Even now, with his own existence thoroughly questionable, he needed more information. Something, anything that could help Thorin!

“I will let someone who was there tell you that,” Tar-Miriel said apologetically. “If you can get Luthien to tell you.”

“She’s alive?” Bilbo asked in disbelief, remembering Gandalf mentioning her sending fiends to test them. “I thought she was the first summoner to defeat Sin.”

“Gandalf may not have mentioned it, but she is as alive as Thorin’s father Thrain was, when you found him in Isildur’s cave,” Tar Miriel replied. “She may talk to you, or she may not. She’s been dead for a very long time, after all. It is hard to remain as you were when you are Unsent for so long.”

Probably a dead end then, but he filed the information away for later. Distantly, he could hear the company calling his name, and realizing that he had little time left, he knew there was no more putting off the important questions.

“Then, the Shire…”

“Was destroyed by Sin, and the survivors became fayth, remembering the people who had died, and letting their dream versions continue where their lives had left off,” Tar-Miriel confirmed. “Their dream neighbors married and bore children, and those children did the same, until the people of the Shire they had known were long dead, and they were dreaming of their distant descendants.”

Truthfully, he had been afraid of that.

“So, if Sin were permanently defeated, what would happen to me? How can I even exist outside of the dream?” Bilbo asked, the voices louder in his ears.

“We don’t really know any of that,” she admitted. “Gandalf made his way into the dream somehow, and started bringing hobbits out of it, and we don’t know how he managed it. You were taken out of the dream by Sin, and perhaps that made you a little more real. Then there are other circumstances that make your existence unique, though that too isn’t my story to tell. But, even if you knew that destroying Sin would end your life, would that stop you? For a chance to prevent more summoners like Thorin from wasting their lives, would you refuse to act?”

It was truly alarming to realize that no, he wouldn’t. He had just been chastising Thorin for throwing away his life, but if he did find a way to keep Thorin alive, his own life might be forfeit! And he didn’t care. Thorin belonged in this world. He didn’t.

“I was never meant to exist in the first place,” Bilbo pointed out, though it stung.

“That’s not true!” Tar-Miriel insisted, unusually passionate. “It was the love of the fayth that gave you life, the longing of those who missed their friends and families! Those feelings are real, and with those feelings they nurtured you and everyone you ever knew. They intended for you to exist, and… we’ll be sad if we lose you. You were meant to exist. It was just always on borrowed time.”

The Shire was fading all around him, and as Bilbo’s consciousness returned, his head cradled in Thorin’s lap, he understood why Gandalf had brought him to Spira. It was a gamble, an attempt to improve Thorin’s chances with the fayth by bringing along someone who was beloved of the fayth. Nothing more or less than that. But, as he looked into Thorin’s eyes, so full of relief now that he was awake, Bilbo was determined to do more. If one of them had to die, it wasn’t going to be Thorin.


	22. Down the Mountain

“I said I’m fine, so would you all stop staring at me like I might drop at any second?” Bilbo snapped irritably. They’d ignored his protests that he was quite well enough to continue and had insisted that they stop and rest for the night, so the least they could do was refrain from staring. Thorin was easily the worst about it, and Bilbo knew he shouldn’t complain about the stubborn dwarf giving him more time to think, but he really wasn’t in the mood to be coddled. If anything, a hard march would do wonders for convincing himself that he was real. How could a fake person feel pain or tiredness?

The only one who didn’t watch him worriedly was Gandalf, the steady look in his eyes betraying that he knew exactly what Bilbo had learned. But then, of course he did. Somehow he’d made his way into the dream, more than once. It couldn’t have been an accident, but as with everything else, he couldn’t ask about it. Not yet, anyway. He didn’t want the dwarves to know. Would they even believe him? And what would Thorin do? He didn’t need to know the answer to be sure that it wasn’t worth the risk.

Still, despite his grumbling, the dwarves didn’t have the decency to look away. Worry was etched into their faces, and Bilbo realized that he really had convinced them all that he was just as tough as them. His sudden collapse had them concerned, and maybe all of that worry wasn’t really meant for him. Fili and Kili had wild imaginations. Perhaps they thought there was something in the air here that Thorin could fall victim to. Who really knew what there was, this close to Zanarkand? After all, an army had been felled here.

“Bilbo, I really think you should let Thorin check you again,” Balin suggested with the infinite patience of someone speaking to a stubborn child. “We can’t take any risks, not so close to the end.”

“There’s no point, and wasting Thorin’s magic on nothing would be just as dangerous,” Bilbo pointed out sullenly.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said with a knowing look. “We are safe here. Let them soothe their minds.”

With even Gandalf against him, there was nothing to do except sigh and submit to another careful examination from Thorin. The examination itself was really nothing worth objecting to. Thorin would just send his magic through him, trying to find something to repair. It was like being enveloped in Thorin’s warm embrace, and yes, he did enjoy that. But his enjoyment was somewhat lessened by the piercing glare Thorin treated him to as he did the examination, as if he would just see the problem if he stared hard enough. To be honest, Bilbo was afraid he would. He was afraid that under such intense scrutiny, part of him would start to fade, and Thorin would see through him. Irrational though it might seem when he had passed muster so far, he was afraid that Thorin would be able to see that he was a fake.

Finally, Thorin lowered his hand, the warmth of his magic fading. It left Bilbo feeling colder than he had before, and he suppressed a shiver. If Thorin thought he was cold, despite the copious layers of clothing Dís had supplied, that would prove something was wrong, at least in the dwarf’s mind.

“There’s nothing wrong that I could find,” Thorin admitted grudgingly.

“See? I told you, I was just surprised. Anyone would be, seeing something like that in the mountainside,” Bilbo pointed out. “Especially after a hard march. Hobbits don’t do well when they’re hungry.” It was unfair, he knew, to play on their ignorance of hobbits to close the argument, but there was little choice. He couldn’t have Thorin mothering him all the way to Zanarkand.

“Bilbo has done admirably on that score so far,” Gandalf informed the dwarves, finally providing rescue. “The average hobbit eats seven meals a day, and though some of them are really no more than snacks, it is still far more than Bilbo has been eating in Spira.”

“Seven?” Fili and Kili exclaimed in unison. They seemed less surprised, and more jealous.

Bilbo felt a little guilty. Their people had been homeless, finally setting up camp in a desert to avoid Yevon. There were probably some times in their lives where one meal a day had been all they could get. Meanwhile, his larder had only been close to empty once, during the Fell Winter. Then again, of course food would be plentiful in a dream world. It made him wonder what had happened to the fayth to cause the Fell Winter. Was that what happened in the dream world whenever Sin was defeated? But then, it had been a few centuries since the last time. Maybe a fayth had been damaged.

“I can’t see what a peaceful folk would do with so much food, except get fat,” Dwalin muttered.

“Well, there is a lot of that, and we’re proud of it,” Bilbo admitted. “I saw Bombur, so I think your people feel the same.” There was grudging agreement to that. “But hobbits are a simple folk, and mostly farmers or gardeners. It’s not easy work.”

The dwarves all nodded, though they had grown more somber.

“My grandfather told me once that before the Shire was destroyed, we traded with the hobbits for food,” Thorin admitted. “They were our nearest neighbors, and we do not farm. We made them better tools, and they gave us a portion of their crops in exchange.”

“Then why did no one help them when Sin attacked?” Bilbo demanded, flaring up. “The dwarves would have known that they had no way to defend themselves. How did they expect to feed themselves if they just let the hobbits get killed?”

“I do not know why it was allowed to happen,” Thorin admitted with sincere regret. “I know that the years after were difficult for my predecessors, and how we came to deal with Thranduil. But we were punished for allowing that to happen, and no one came to our aid when we met the same fate.”

Bilbo’s blood cooled immediately. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” Thorin assured him. “You have the right. As a result, no one knows what hobbits need anymore. Have we been starving you?”

“No, no, not at all,” Bilbo told him hurriedly. “Well, I have been hungry at times, but I do understand. You’re on a journey. If we stopped to eat for every meal that my people recognize, we’d never get anywhere. It just makes me a little more susceptible to surprises like the one we got today, that’s all.” The dwarves all relaxed, and Bilbo bit back a sigh of relief. Hopefully that would be the end of that.

“Well, if nothing else goes wrong, we should reach the base of the mountain tomorrow,” Balin informed them all, consulting a map. The need for a map surprised Bilbo.

“Didn’t you live under the mountain before?” he asked, with a nod toward the map.

“I did, but Thorin and I were both young when Sin attacked,” Balin explained. “That, and no one, not even the dwarves of Erebor, goes near Zanarkand. Only summoners. It’s bad luck, even if you don’t think it’s holy. No one wants to meet the snowstorm that protected the city so long ago.”

“The fiends there are also extremely powerful,” Gandalf pointed out. “They are all either ancient, or summoners and guardians who made it there, so none of them are creatures the casual traveler would be able to handle. Also, the city used to be in a cave system, though near the surface.”

They all started at that.

“That’s impossible,” Thorin said bluntly. “The city is clearly aboveground.”

“It is now,” Gandalf replied a little impatiently. “Before, it was underground to avoid the notice of the ancient evil. When it was finally found, rather than go through the caves, their enemy simply attacked from above, collapsing the city from outside. In the years between the city’s fall and Lady Luthien’s defeat of Sin, some tried to clear the cave rubble, leaving what you see below.”

Bilbo wrinkled his forehead. “Why is that a reason for no one else to go there?”

“The buildings are unstable,” Thorin guessed. “Not everything would have collapsed during the initial attack, but that doesn’t mean it’s all still structurally sound. Once Yevon declared it a holy place, restoring it would have been considered defilement.”

Gandalf nodded. “There is that, but likewise, there were some levels of the cave system that were lower down, and only cracked. A careless step can send you plunging to your death, and the elves of this city had magical traps. As those who tried to restore it discovered. For once, Yevon declaring something may have saved lives. Only summoners and guardians risk being killed by the city itself now.”

It was all very comforting.

“And let’s not forget the powerful fiend you think Lady Luthien will send to test us,” Balin observed wryly.

“I believe there is a guardian fiend inside the temple as well,” Gandalf mused. “Though I may be remembering something else. It all gets rather confused at my age.”

“Wonderful,” Dwalin muttered, and Bilbo found he rather agreed.

* * *

 

Bilbo was torn between wanting to drag his feet and nearly running the rest of the way down. Every step brought them closer, and he still had no idea what to do. On the other hand, the Crusaders were drawing closer to the mountain every day. If they delayed, they could be caught up in the blast, or killed by an enraged Sin when it inevitably burst out of the trap. They could fall through the floor in Zanarkand, or be gutted by fiends. There were so many ways to die no matter what they did. It was Spira’s one constant.

He wished he had been able to ask Tar-Miriel if Sin was being summoned by the fayth on the mountainside. If that was the case, could they defeat Sin by destroying those fayth? It seemed too simple, but then again, very few people were able to make it there at all. In any case, defeating Sin permanently must have something to do with the fayth, considering that it was always aeons who defeated it temporarily. There was something that most summoners weren’t doing. And hadn’t Isildur said that he’d been inside Sin? Maybe the answers lay there.

“I wouldn’t dawdle,” Gandalf advised him quietly, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I know you must have a lot to think about, but they will assume something is wrong if you keep walking slowly.”

“You’re right,” Bilbo agreed, hastily jogging forward until he was back near the center of the company. He didn’t want to linger and talk to Gandalf. Gandalf knew the truth about him, and had kept it from him all this time. He’d always know that Gandalf played things close to the vest, but this was different. When he finally decided to confront him, he would have to be ready to face why he’d been brought to Spira in the first place, if Gandalf had gone to so much trouble.

Fiend activity thinned out as they descended, but rather than take this as a sign of safety, the dwarves drew closer together, making their formation more tightly knit. Less fiends didn’t mean safety, and even the ever cheerful Fili and Kili knew that. It just meant that the smaller ones were keeping clear of a larger one.

“Is there a way out of the mountain on this side?” Bilbo asked, thinking of the slumbering Sin. They’d been lucky so far, and had neither heard nor seen any sign of it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were only getting closer and closer to its lair.

“There are a few large caves that empty out near Zanarkand,” Thorin admitted grimly. “In the past, they might have connected to Doriath. Sin originally attacked the mountain through one of them.”

“They should all be caved in now,” Balin pointed out, seeing the worried looks. “Sin wasn’t careful, and collapsed passages as it went.”

“Then how is it leaving to attack places?” Kili asked. “It had to leave to attack Kilika.”

“There may be other ways out that we don’t know about,” Balin allowed. “Or, being Sin, it could have smashed its way through a cave in.”

For all that he knew little of mountains or caves, that seemed unlikely to Bilbo. Even in the digging of smials, if something wasn’t properly reinforced, it would cave in, and clearing the collapsed spot often just brought down more rubble. In Hobbiton, that rubble was mostly dirt and small stones, so nothing too dangerous, but this was a mountain. Several tons of rock could easily be displaced by just smashing through. The dwarves had to know that. Judging by their grim expressions though, they had lived in fear of Sin for too long to doubt its ability to break through a cave in without being crushed. It was too much of an unknown quantity.

Though it hadn’t been his intention, Balin’s answer actually calmed Bilbo for the rest of the descent. Somehow, he knew that Sin was actually trapped inside the mountain. How it had managed to ravage Kilika, he couldn’t say. But it wasn’t about to force its way out in search of them. If they could handle whatever Luthien sent, they would make it to Zanarkand just fine.

According to Gandalf, they had another hour until they reached the bottom, when a faint popping sound made them all freeze in place.

“What was that?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“It sounded like mining explosives,” Thorin answered evenly.

“The Crusaders clearing a spot for their big machina, no doubt,” Dwalin observed with a measured look over his shoulder.

“How could we feel that from here?” Suddenly Bilbo felt like he couldn’t walk fast enough. Were the Crusaders really going to bring the mountain down while they were still on it?

“An explosion near the base would be felt all over the mountain if it was done in the correct spot,” Balin informed him grimly. “They must have dwarves consulting them on where to place the explosives.”

“We should still be safe,” Gandalf assured Bilbo at his worried look. “They still have to clear the rubble and place everything for their operation. That will take days, and the base of the mountain is in sight.”

“But what about going back?” Fili asked. “We could end up trapped in Zanarkand.”

“I have a way to signal the airship,” Balin admitted. “Wherever Sin ends up after the Crusaders rouse it, we can be there easily enough.”

Fili and Kili exchanged a look.

“If you can signal the airship, why are we walking to Zanarkand?” Kili pointed out.

“The journey is part of the training,” Thorin replied firmly, though his eyes were warm. Bilbo got the impression he’d had a similar conversation with someone when he was a young summoner. “To skip part of it is to be unprepared.”

“Speaking of preparation, I believe we’re about to have company,” Gandalf observed as a colossal fiend rounded the corner. Bilbo lacked the words to adequately describe it. It was huge and vaguely reptilian, but had some metal contraptions affixed to its head. A fiend that people had once tried to control, perhaps? But no, it was controlled by an elven summoner now. An elven summoner in a dead city. This fiend had to be just as old.

But it wasn’t Sin, and even when the fiend opened wings they hadn’t even known it had and unleashed strange bursts of light, the dwarves were undaunted. With Gandalf’s magic protecting them, they knew no fear. Even Bilbo made bolder attacks than he would have ordinarily, feeling a silent voice urging him to be stronger and faster.

Zanarkand was just around the corner. Time was running out. They didn’t have time to waste, even on something that would have been an insurmountable obstacle earlier in the journey. Even learning that the fiend killed aeons with an instant, ruthless efficiency, they didn’t hesitate. There was no time or energy left for that.

“Well,” Gandalf began when the fiend finally fell to its knees and faded in a rush of pyreflies, “If you handle the fiends of Zanarkand as well as you handled this one, Sin will fall without any trouble.”

Thorin simply shrugged at the comment, though when he turned away from Gandalf, his features were lit with a small smile. It made Bilbo’s heart ache. Thorin’s smiles were rare, his mind weighed down by so much responsibility. How many more of those smiles would there be, before the end?

As if sensing the turn of his thoughts, Thorin turned to him, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. But Bilbo looked away, turning the ring over in his pocket morosely as he tried to think of something one more time.


	23. Zanarkand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I still have no idea how many more chapters there are going to be. But I think we're getting closer to the end now...

Seeing Zanarkand from a distance really didn’t do it justice. Far away, it was just a tumble-down ruin of white stone and glittering pyreflies. It looked beautiful and sad, though Bilbo felt that way about most ruins. There was nothing particularly unique about Zanarkand, no, Doriath, from far away.

The true beauty of the city was only visible up close. In the moonlight, the stone had an eerie glow, as if it had come from the moon itself. Above, the pyreflies clustered in thick streams, almost like a shining river in the sky. It wasn’t just beautiful and sad: it was tragic. Only the deaths of thousands of people could cause so many pyreflies to congregate, drawn to the strong emotions they would have felt as they died.

Hypnotized by the pyreflies, Bilbo wasn’t watching where he stepped. One large foot slipped from the broken pathway and into the stagnant water surrounding the city. The splash seemed to carry for miles over the still water, and he froze in place.

“Do not disturb the water,” Gandalf warned, tugging him back onto the road and into the center of the formation. “The flooding came after the city was sacked. It hides things that no one has known for thousands of years. Ancient fiends and worse. We do not want to attract their attention.”

Bilbo just nodded stiffly, doing his best not to show the fear those words evoked. He’d been trying to keep some distance from Thorin to avoid being smothered by the dwarf’s worry, but if that kept him safe from unnamed things under the water, he could learn to live with it. For a little while, anyway.

Luckily for all of them, there was no way to get lost in Zanarkand. Most of the city was rubble and half underwater, leaving only a cracked stone road leading inexorably onward. It meant that there was nowhere to run if they encountered particularly nasty fiends, but there was no point in running from them anymore. Thorin wouldn’t be able to defeat Sin if he had to run from common fiends.

As they walked, Bilbo noticed a tall building in the distance, which seemed to be their destination. It was a dome, not unlike the music hall in Luca. It seemed to be the only structure to have survived the ages largely intact. Muscular statues flanked the entrance, though one of them looked like it had been cleaved in two ages ago. The torso lay on the ground, strangely free of moss or other plant life. In fact, there didn’t seem to be much algae or anything like it. Considering the flooding, that seemed impossible.

“Gandalf,” Bilbo asked, his heart pounding. “Why does nothing grow here? When the sea flooded the city, there should have been something, shouldn’t there?”

“I haven’t seen any fish either,” Fili admitted. “Was hoping to find something for dinner, but there’s only fiends.”

“The water is poisoned,” Gandalf told them. “I should have warned you sooner, but no one tried to drink it so I forgot the danger. The battle with the ancient evil left it inhospitable to all life. Time should have cleansed it, but some wounds cannot be healed so easily.”

“You said the traps were why no one had come back to live here, but poisoned water sounds far more likely,” Thorin observed with raised eyebrows.

“When you get to be my age, sometimes these things slip your mind,” Gandalf said. “I would have thought it obvious now that you’ve been here that this is not a place where life thrives.”

It was easy to forget sometimes that fiends did not count as ‘life’. Fueled by resentment, they could endure far more than the living. Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if the Unsent were the same, or if how much of their mind they had left was a factor. But it was a waste of time to think about it. What could that information do to help Thorin?

Thorin seemed to guess the turn of his thoughts. “There isn’t much time left. Have you found another way to defeat Sin?” he asked Bilbo, a single eyebrow raised as if he knew exactly what the answer would be.

“I haven’t,” Bilbo admitted. “But I want to talk to Lady Luthien before you go off and get yourself killed.”

Thorin and Bilbo looked at Gandalf for approval, and he nodded thoughtfully.

“If you mind your manners, I do not think she will be offended. As it is Bilbo asking, that should not be a problem,” Gandalf told them. “But after all this time, do you truly think she might know something that she hasn’t told others?”

“Probably not,” Bilbo allowed. “But how do we know that she hasn’t given them another way and they’ve just failed?”

No one could say anything to that, though Thorin’s expression was painfully fond. Bilbo couldn’t understand it. Had Thorin been prepared to die for so long that the thought no longer troubled him? How else could he look so terribly pleased that Bilbo stubbornly persisted in trying to save him? He should try harder to save his own neck!

“I don’t understand him,” Bilbo muttered as he stirred dinner. They had made camp outside the dome, and he’d offered to cook. He needed something to do with his hands that wasn’t stabbing fiends. Or stabbing stubborn dwarves.

“With his sister, as well as myself and my brother, his choice to become a summoner has long been a point of contention,” Balin reminded him sympathetically. “We’ve known him almost his entire life, and done everything we can to try and make that life longer. You appeared a few weeks ago.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Bilbo practically snapped, and immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry Balin, I just-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Balin assured him. “Thorin knows how to handle us trying to stop him. But he doesn’t know how to handle someone he just met, relatively speaking, expressing that same concern. Old fool that he is, it makes him happy.”

“It should make him sad,” Bilbo muttered.

“I imagine it does, but Thorin is used to managing sadness. He does it better than most,” Balin told him. “He has had too few causes for joy in his life. When he goes off alone like that, what do you suppose he is doing?”

“Brooding?” Bilbo guessed irritably.

“Well, I suppose technically that is true,” Balin allowed. “He only lets himself feel such things alone, so that no one will think less of him. The dual weights of king and summoner demand it.”

“None of us would think less of him though. Would you?” Bilbo asked.

Balin shook his head. “Of course not. But Thorin is, as you said, quite stubborn. And it may be too late for that to change. Why not let him go? This can only make you unhappier.”

He probably should do what Balin suggested. Whatever feelings he had, they were too young to mean anything. Certainly too young to mean anything to Thorin. It would only make his inevitable death more painful, to say nothing of having to live in Spira afterwards. But it wasn’t so easy to just turn off feelings, was it?

Without really knowing what he was doing, Bilbo strode over to where Thorin was brooding. The dwarf didn’t notice him at first, wrapped up in his own thoughts, but when he did, there was a warmth in his eyes that suggested that the interruption wasn’t unwelcome. Somehow, that just made it worse.

“Could you take this more seriously?” Bilbo hissed. “I’m wracking my brain trying to think of something, anything that could keep you alive, and it doesn’t bother you at all! Why should I waste that energy on someone who doesn’t care if he’s alive or dead?”

Thorin stared at him dumbfounded, and Bilbo realized that he finally understood what Shiva had been saying. She hadn’t wanted to give her power to someone who didn’t value his life. She wanted to give her power to someone who was doing this only because there was no other choice. Someone who would have lived a full life otherwise. After all, why waste time with someone who didn’t really care about the outcome?

“I do care,” Thorin replied, stung. “This has been my fate for so long, I cannot see it going any other way. And I am glad of the chance to protect my people, even if only for a short time. But you try so hard, fighting against something that everyone else accepts. I can’t help but admire that. I don’t have that kind of strength anymore.”

Arguments swam in Bilbo’s mind, but nothing seemed helpful. He couldn’t just nettle Thorin out of doing this, Dís had already tried that without success.

“I just…” Bilbo hesitated, and Thorin patted the ground beside him, inviting him to sit down. Feeling the anger leaving him, Bilbo sat, though a little further away from Thorin. “You will let me talk to Lady Luthien first, right?”

“I will,” Thorin swore. “You seem able to get answers out of people who wouldn’t normally give them. The dead in particular. Even if you do not hear what you want to, it will still be valuable.”

Bilbo’s conversation with Tar-Miriel jumped to the forefront of his mind, but he shoved it back down. It wasn’t something Thorin needed to know about. “None of you ever thought to ask, that’s all,” Bilbo assured him. “Even if your people never did like Yevon, their teachings and rules must have been a huge part of your lives. Breaking them wouldn’t come easily.”

“It was just the rules,” Thorin admitted. “We don’t believe in Yevon, but we’re still forced to live by their rules.”

“What do you believe in, then?” Bilbo asked, curious. Even reading the history book from Dís hadn’t yielded much of that information. Probably because of the trouble it would have gotten the author in.

The change in conversational topic seemed to relax Thorin, the tension going out of his body as he leaned forward and met Bilbo’s eyes. “It’s a secret kept from outsiders, as Yevon would have us all killed if they could prove we didn’t worship as they do.”

Bilbo’s face fell, interpreting this as a refusal. “I see. I shouldn’t have-”

“As you have earned your place among us, you have the right to know,” Thorin continued. “We should have told you some time ago, in fact.”

Bilbo’s disappointment was gone in an instant, and he scooted closer to Thorin. Thorin in turn opened his overcoat and wrapped the both of them in it, warding off the evening chill. Not what Bilbo had been expecting, but Thorin was as hot as a furnace, so it didn’t seem worth complaining about. He’d been trying to keep a safe distance, thinking it better for both of them, but if that wasn’t what Thorin wanted, who was he to stop him? Thorin was a dead man walking, after all. And so was he.

“When Glorfindel mentioned the Valar, it wasn’t the first time I’d heard of them,” Thorin admitted. Bilbo could feel his voice rumbling in his chest, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. “The dwarves recognize one above all the others, because he is our creator.”

“Is that not true for the elves?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Thorin admitted. “If they still believe in beings other than Yevon, they don’t tell anyone.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Bilbo admitted. “I keep forgetting how long ago Glorfindel died.”

“As I was saying,” Thorin continued. “Before the world was fully formed, long before the elves awoke or Sin was born, Mahal the smith forged the first dwarves in secret. He made them in his image, desiring as a craftsman to bring more great craftsmen into the world.”

“So dwarves were the first race to be born?” Somehow he could understand why Yevon wouldn’t approve of this being spread around. And with that in mind, the enmity between the dwarves and Yevon made a lot more sense.

“No,” Thorin admitted. “And yes. Mahal was forced to put the dwarf fathers and mothers back to sleep until the world was ready and the elves had awakened.”

“Are these the seven dwarf fathers that came up before? The ones who reincarnate among their people every so often?” Bilbo asked, remembering their conversation at the Macalania Travel Agency.

Thorin nodded. “Because of how we were made, there was no afterlife planned for the dwarves,” he explained. “So we believe that when we die and are Sent, we return to the stone of the Farplane, there to wait for the world to end.”

Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered what would happen to him when he died, or faded, or did whatever dream-hobbits did. Could he reach the Farplane if he didn’t really exist? He certainly wouldn’t reach whatever part of the Farplane the dead dwarves were stored in.

“Is that why you prefer to bury your dead in stone tombs?” It had seemed like such a luxury in this world before, but it wasn’t about luxury at all.

“We believe it eases their passage to the Farplane,” Thorin told him. “My brother, father, and grandfather… None of them were buried in stone tombs. My brother and grandfather were burned on the Djose shore, and my father…” Thorin couldn’t continue, and Bilbo put his hand on his gently. The wound was too raw.

“The same won’t happen to you,” Bilbo found himself saying. “Whether you defeat Sin or not, none of us will let that happen.” He could see how important it was to Thorin, even if he found the subject rather morbid.

“If we fail, there will be no one left to carry out that promise,” Thorin observed, though he turned his hand over so that he could take Bilbo’s.

“Then we had better not fail, hadn’t we?” Bilbo said with more determination than he felt. “You said some time ago that only reincarnations of the seven dwarf fathers have ever succeeded. But Durin’s soul is trapped in stone. Who’s to say you didn’t inherit some of it?”

Thorin shook his head slowly. “Reincarnations of Durin know who they are. They carry the memories of every lifetime with them to the next. I don’t have that.”

But there was a faint note of doubt in Thorin’s voice, and that would have to be enough for now. Bilbo felt like he was always settling since coming to Spira, but what else could he do? He could hear the whispers of pyreflies inside the dome, like sirens trying to call the soul out of his body, and he leaned back into Thorin. With the shadow of death so hanging over this world, how could anyone ever get exactly what they wanted?

* * *

 

The inside of the dome was even worse than any of them had expected. Aside from having to navigate a broken hodgepodge of a road, assembled from what hadn’t completely crumbled over the ages, and of course the fiends, there were also the shades to contend with. Only a few steps into the dome, an apparition had flown out of Thorin’s body, wreathed in pyreflies, and talked to another apparition, which stepped through Kili and made him shudder.

“The pyreflies trapped in the dome over the ages accumulated to the point where they create an effect like a sphere,” Gandalf explained grimly. “The memories of the summoners who come here are preserved by the pyreflies, so that even those who fail are not forgotten, even if the city itself is all that remembers them.”

Encountering ghosts made of pyreflies was extremely unsettling. Even if they weren’t ghosts in the strictest sense, just clusters of memories, that didn’t change the fact that they were looking at people who were long dead.

“This is for the best,” a woman insisted calmly. “There is no one better suited for it.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” a man replied, and Bilbo started when he recognized a younger version of Captain Bard. Perhaps they weren’t all dead after all. “What about our children?”

“I feel like an intruder,” Bilbo admitted, turning away from the scene. “This was supposed to be a private moment.” Though he couldn’t say he understood what exactly they were talking about. Wasn’t Bard the summoner?

“For me it is a little different,” Gandalf admitted, gesturing toward a distant scene, and a pyrefly version of himself. “Nowhere else are my memories so well preserved, though it is a difficult journey just to see them again.”

“Do our memories affect what we see here?” Balin asked curiously. “I imagine they would, like normal pyreflies.”

“To some extent,” Gandalf said. “It is likely that Captain Bard appeared because someone’s mind is distracted by thoughts of what he intends to do to the mountain. You could probably summon up any high summoner you might want to. But, the dome also has a way of showing you what you need to see.”

Bilbo wondered about that as they proceeded through the dome. Many summoners and guardians passed by them, but the scenes were almost all the same: a summoner expressing doubt, and a guardian insisting that this was the way things had to be. They were always vague, but the message was clear enough. He couldn’t help but suspect Lady Luthien had her eyes on him. But what could she have to tell them that would throw this many summoners into doubt?


	24. The Last Temple

The dome didn’t just contain specters of the dead, endlessly replaying their memories. Sometimes the dead were more substantial, Unsent who had somehow managed to retain their forms over the ages. Some were clearly summoners and guardians who had made it this far only to fail. Bilbo was almost used to that by now, disappointing as it must have been for those summoners. But some of the Unsent were much, much older. Dead-eyed elves, wielding blades of a shape none of them had seen before, and other beings with grey skin, covered in scars. They were far more dangerous than the regular fiends, still possessing the lethal grace they had in life, even if their minds had fled long ago.

“The former residents of Doriath are likely why we’ve encountered so many fallen summoners,” Gandalf explained. “These are the shades of angry high elves, forsaking their chance at being reborn for a chance at revenge. They are not opponents to be taken lightly.”

After one the ancient elvish blades came within mere centimeters of slicing Bilbo’s fingers off, prevented only by Thorin pulling him out of way in time, the dwarves grudgingly agreed that a little more caution was necessary with these opponents. Their hatred of the enemy who slew them had been strong enough to let them keep their forms instead of becoming regular fiends, after all. It didn’t matter that their enemy was long gone, and they were trying to kill people who were trying to prevent similar tragedies.

“Why did Yevon decide that this place was where pilgrimages ended?” Bilbo asked after a particular desperate fight, where the elven Unsent had managed to surround them. Thorin was still mopping up the damage, healing long, deep gashes on Dwalin’s arms. “I know it’s a good test, but eventually this road will give out.”

The road through the dome was already a broken and crumbling one, with holes filled by whatever was convenient. What would future summoners do when the holes grew too large for them to cross?

“I do not think they ever had a choice,” Gandalf admitted, protecting them from further attack with a magic barrier. “Lady Luthien first defeated Sin, and as an Unsent, she settled into these ruins. For those seeking to defeat Sin, they had to find her, and learn the truth from her. Eventually, long after Lady Luthien’s existence as an Unsent was forgotten, it was already the way things were done.”

“And a crumbling road is no true obstacle,” Thorin added, an inappropriately amused glint in his eyes. “I would build a new road if I had to.”

“With fiends and dead elven guards surrounding you?” Even now, they waited outside of Gandalf’s barrier, their blank eyes staring straight forward. Bilbo struggled to look away. “Not exactly the best circumstances for construction.”

“You should know by now to never underestimate dwarves,” Thorin replied, withdrawing his hands from Dwalin’s arm. A thin red line ran from elbow to wrist, but the cut was closed. Bilbo suspected that if the heavily tattooed dwarf made it home again, he would probably get a new tattoo around that gash.

Between the Unsent and the visions of the dead summoners, no one wanted to be the first to ask for a halt. Camping in the dome seemed like an incredibly dangerous affair, but none of them except Gandalf had any idea what was ahead. Would it only get more dangerous?

A specter of one of the Durins marched by, urging his guardians to hurry, and Bilbo was again struck by Thorin’s likeness to him. True, this was one of his ancestors, but Bilbo had seen Thorin’s father. The resemblance there had been far weaker. He couldn’t help but wonder if the dwarves considered that an omen, a reason to support Thorin’s pilgrimage where others had failed. On the other hand, maybe the seven dwarf fathers had succeeded at defeating Sin where other dwarves failed because they knew they would be reborn, and could face death more easily. That was probably why elves seemed so successful. Then again, was that really a sacrifice? Surely Tar-Miriel, as one of the fayth, knew what she was talking about.

The company passed under an archway, and suddenly there were no more fiends or Unsent. The pyrefly illusions remained, but Bilbo couldn’t pay them much attention. In the distance, there was a short staircase, with a door at the top. It was exactly like every other temple they had been in, except that the door was hanging off its hinges, and some of the stairs had broken pillars strewn across them.

“We should rest here for the night,” Gandalf advised. “It is safer than the rest of the dome, and the cloister is guarded by more than just puzzles this time. We will all need our rest.”

“Fiends in the temple?” Thorin recalled, eyebrows raised.

“That door was not torn off by a summoner,” Gandalf replied. “But it is only one fiend, a final test before facing Lady Luthien. I am sure of it now.”

After everything they had faced, Bilbo knew he should be grateful that the tests were almost done. Soon he would be able to ask Lady Luthien the questions he had, or at least try to. Yet, he couldn’t shake the fear that he would fail. They were so close to the end now, one way or another. Just one more cloister, one more aeon, and that could be it.

On the other hand, no matter what he did, he would never see Thorin again.

Bilbo swallowed a sob as he shooed Fili away to work on their supper alone. He hadn’t thought about it that way before. It was all well and good to say he would eventually get over Thorin dying, considering how short a time they’d known each other, but if things went according to plan, it would be Bilbo dying instead. Would this be the last time they all ate supper together? What would happen once Thorin had the final aeon? Would Sin know, and attack them? What about the operation the Crusaders were running? Would they simply be buried in Zanarkand under the mountain rubble?

At least then they would all die together.

Bilbo shook his head roughly. No. He shouldn’t be wasting energy on that kind of pessimism. There had to be another way. There had to be! And if there wasn’t, Thorin wouldn’t be the first summoner to die this way. But he wouldn’t be the last, either.

“How is there a temple here?” Fili asked once supper was served. “I thought no one stayed long enough to build anything.”

“And Yevon only arose after the fall of Doriath,” Thorin mused, realizing where his nephew was going. “Why would there be a temple to a god that did not yet exist?”

“But there were fayth before that,” Bilbo recalled. “Is it possible that…”

Gandalf nodded. “Yes, many of the temples in Spira were built in an earlier time, as shrines to the Valar. There were more once, destroyed by Sin. When Yevon arose, they took possession of the temples, taking advantage of the old faiths to drive people to the new.”

“Typical,” Dwalin muttered.

“Then it’s no wonder the fayth here is so powerful,” Bilbo realized. “It predates Yevon, doesn’t it?”

Gandalf actually looked away, and Bilbo wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Gandalf,” Thorin said, a warning in his voice.

“You will know all very soon,” Gandalf protested. “Trust me when I say that it will mean more if you hear it from Lady Luthien.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, then decided better of it. Then, seeing that Thorin wasn’t appeased, he decided to say it anyway. “Gandalf, why do guardians never tell anyone what they see in Doriath?”

Gandalf lowered his pipe with a sigh. “Because no one would believe them.”

Bilbo found himself seeking out Thorin’s warmth that night, letting the doomed dwarf hold him close in sleep. He wasn’t cold, and he knew giving in to his feelings for Thorin was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help but wonder what they could possibly learn that no one would believe. It was impossible to fall asleep thinking about it, and he had fond hopes that Thorin’s warm embrace would wash it all away for a little while. It worked, but little did Bilbo know that Thorin barely slept, spending the night studying every little detail of his hobbit’s sleeping face.

* * *

 

It was a relief to enter the temple and find it a comfortable temperature, with no strange, painful obstacles. Enough of a relief that Fili and Kili almost immediately ran off, claiming they were ‘scouting ahead.’ Thorin let them go with barely an admonishment. There was only so much trouble they could get into in an environment like the temple, and they wouldn’t have many reasons to be carefree for long.

They had all forgotten the fiend Gandalf had warned them about.

The puzzle in the temple was remarkably simple. A sphere screen displayed shapes, and they had to find the lighted sections of the floor that made the same shapes. Once a set was completed, the symbol of one of the temples would appear on the ring in the center of the room, surrounding a mysterious hole. Dividing and conquering defeated the puzzle in record time, even with Fili and Kili off doing whatever they wanted.

Thorin’s triumphant expression lasted less than five seconds before a familiar scream split the air. They turned toward the ring of symbols in time to see a tall, scythe-armed fiend rising out of the hole. It had a strangely feline face, but Bilbo couldn’t pay it much mind. Kili was dangling off the edge of the hole, one hand’s grip being the difference between life and death. Bilbo had lost count of how many times the young dwarf had thrown himself in harms way under similar circumstances. No wonder his mother hadn’t wanted him to come. Poor Fili was barely keeping his brother from plummeting down into the pit.

They all started forward, concern for Fili and Kili showing on every face, but Gandalf thrust out his staff to halt their advance.

“Wait a moment,” he said, raising a placating hand when he saw the anger that sprang to Thorin’s face. “Look at the arms. If we all rush toward it from the same direction, it will sweep us all into the pit, and we will be of no use to Fili and Kili.”

“So we surround it,” Thorin replied as if that had been his plan all along, moving Gandalf’s staff aside. “Dwalin, with me. Balin, you and Bilbo from the left. Gandalf, take the right.”

Bilbo could have sworn Gandalf rolled his eyes, but they all charged forward in the assigned formation. It didn’t escape Bilbo’s notice that Thorin had given himself and Dwalin the most dangerous task, that of being directly in the fiend’s line of sight and retrieving Fili and Kili. Even now, so close to completing his goal, Thorin couldn’t help but sabotage himself.

On impulse, seeing the fiend closing in on Kili, Bilbo leapt forward, stabbing at its side in the hope of distracting it. The fiend’s scythe-like arms whipped out, forcing Bilbo and Balin to drop to their stomachs, but it didn’t turn away.

“Warn me next time,” Balin chided, lashing out with his own weapon. It was a slower strike, but the weapon had more weight to it, and Balin was far stronger than Bilbo, harmless as he might look. The fiend actually cried out, and slowly but surely turned away from Fili and Kili.

“Now!”

They heard Thorin shout, but Bilbo and Balin couldn’t afford to look over. The fiend was lashing out at them again, and it was all they could do to avoid being cleaved in half. What Gandalf was doing, they couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I’m not sure how Gandalf could forgotten if this fiend was here or anywhere else,” Bilbo panted. “It almost feels like it was made for this spot.”

“After so many journeys to Zanarkand, I imagine they would all start blending together,” Balin observed, barely deflecting a heavy claw with a careful strike. “As guardians, Dwalin and I only ever made it to the base of the mountain. Fitting, I suppose.”

Feeling a little at a loss, Bilbo only said, “Well, at least you’ve made it here now,” before the fiend swung at them again. But when Balin smiled, it was without any of the fierce joy the dwarves seemed to have in battle

Then the fiend turned away, back toward Fili and Kili, and Bilbo had a panicked moment until he saw Kili on his hands and knees, safe.

“Take your brother to Gandalf,” Thorin was instructing Fili, facing down the fiend with Dwalin. “Everyone attack at once. Maybe we can confuse it.”

Thorin’s plan did seem to work for a while… At least until they discovered this fiend’s ability to lay magical bombs. Gandalf noticed the first one just a second too late to keep Fili from being tossed into the air, landing with the sickening crack of broken bone. It appeared only as a pulsing light on the floor, and when the whole temple was made of pulsing floor lights, it had seemed innocuous. But innocuous didn’t break arms. Even the aeons weren’t immune to the bombs, dissolving instantly whenever one detonated underneath them.

Even when the fiend fell into the pit, pyreflies trailing behind it, Bilbo still wasn’t sure how they had won.

“At least it was your arm, not your neck,” Thorin groused as he healed Fili, very real worry in his eyes.

“It barely hurts,” Fili insisted with a visible wince.

“Because I’m fixing it,” Thorin replied bluntly.

“That was the last test, right?” Bilbo asked Gandalf, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. He wasn’t sure he entirely succeeded. If there was another fiend waiting down there, Thorin had almost no magic left. Setting a bone wasn’t exactly trivial magic, even after everything they’d been through.

“I believe so,” Gandalf told him, gazing down into the pit. “Though it is always possible that Lady Luthien has added some new ones.”

“So down there is the chamber of the fayth,” Kili said, inexorably drawn to the pit despite his earlier encounter with it.

“I don’t hear the hymn,” Dwalin observed, crossing his arms and tilting his head to listen.

“It’s a long way down,” Gandalf advised. “You should begin to hear it as we ride the platform down.”

Thorin had only enough attention for his nephew’s arm. “Try moving it,” he ordered Fili, withdrawing his hand.

Fili rotated his shoulder cautiously before extending his arm with a wince. “It still hurts, but I can use it,” he reported.

“Good.” Thorin reached out and grasped Fili’s uninjured shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Anticipation was killing the whole company by the time the lift ground to a halt at the bottom and they heard a deep male voice singing the hymn of the fayth, but there was more waiting in store for them.

“Wait here,” Thorin instructed them with a particular look at Bilbo before stepping into the chamber. It seemed strange now to impose limits again when they had already laughed in the face of Yevon’s taboos so many times, but then this was a very personal moment for Thorin. It had been a long time since another dwarf made it as far as he now had. A long time since anyone had, for that matter. And none of those people made it back to tell of what they saw.

Thorin wasn’t gone long, emerging from the chamber with a puzzled expression.

“That was fast,” Dwalin observed.

“The fayth is gone,” Thorin replied, now looking utterly mystified. “The statue is broken, and it was not done recently.”

Instinctively, Bilbo turned to Gandalf.

“Let us all take a look at it,” Gandalf suggested, his expression giving away nothing.

As they all trooped into the room, Bilbo pinned Gandalf with an accusing glare. “You knew about this, and yet you didn’t say anything,” he hissed.

“Would Thorin have believed that there is no fayth here, after everything he’s been told by Yevon?” Gandalf asked, eyebrows raised.

It was a fair point, especially as Bilbo had a hard time believing it himself. He could see the fayth, rent down the middle, the hard edges of the crack worn off by people and the ages. Even Bilbo could tell it had been like this for a very long time. So then where was the singing coming from if there was no fayth?

“Summoner Thorin. We have been expecting you.”

An elf with blurred edges appeared, bowing to Thorin. No, Bilbo realized. An Unsent.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thorin asked, his impatience barely restrained.

“All will be explained by the Lady Luthien,” the Unsent assured him. “If you would just follow me, I will take you to her.”

There was a door in the back of the chamber that Bilbo hadn’t noticed, and judging by the way Thorin jumped when the Unsent stepped through it, he hadn’t noticed either. Thorin looked back at them, confirming all of their intentions with a silent look, then stepped through the doorway, leaving them to follow.


	25. Decision

The Unsent led them into a round, high-ceilinged room not unlike the entryways of many of the temples. There was a staircase with a door at the top, and there an ethereal woman waited. Like the Unsent leading them, she was fuzzy around the edges, suggesting she was Unsent as well. But she seemed both more solid and yet more airy than the other Unsent, as if she had not been fully solid in life either. Her long dark hair seemed to float, as if she had her own personal wind flowing around her head. There was really no question about who this was.

“The Lady Luthien,” the Unsent announced with a flowery bow. Gandalf and Bilbo followed suit more sedately, and the dwarves reluctantly followed their lead.

“You are very welcome here, Summoner Thorin,” Luthien said, her voice deeper and more melodic than expected. Somehow after been dead for so long, Bilbo had expected something of her to degrade.

Thorin, for his part, was obviously biting back some of his ruder thoughts. His jaw was clenched far too tight to be comfortable, but something told Bilbo to leave it alone. Thorin was afraid, though of what he couldn’t say.

“Where is the fayth?” Thorin asked brusquely, after a perfunctory greeting of his own.

“It is as you saw,” Luthien said simply. “That fayth was my husband, Beren. He defeated Sin, and then in time became a new Sin. Summoners came forth to defeat him, one of their guardians becoming a fayth, and eventually one succeeded. They too became a new Sin in time, changing Sin. Making it take a new form. So the cycle began, so it has continued.”

It was like they had all been struck in the chest. Bilbo felt the breath go out of him, and Thorin looked similarly stricken. He had been prepared to die, but to ask another to go with him, and to become Sin until the next High Summoner came along? Maybe they had just misunderstood. How could something so awful be true?

“One of my guardians… has to become the final aeon?” Thorin asked, as if forcing the words from his body.

Luthien nodded. “The stronger the bond between summoner and guardian, the stronger the aeon. The better chance you have of defeating Sin. Your chosen guardian will become Spira’s hope, banishing the darkness for a time.”

Suddenly the conversations they had witnessed between shades of summoners and guardians made complete sense. Captain Bard’s guardian had been his wife, and who would really want to repeat the tragedy of Beren and Luthien, both dying for nothing, all things considered? No wonder he had said that he had to think of his children. Captain Bard had quit being a summoner, but what had become of his wife in the end?

Bilbo grimaced. That wasn’t what he was here to ask about, upsetting as it was. Not only did Thorin have to choose someone to sacrifice, but the stronger the bond, the better it would be. Not that anyone here wasn’t precious to Thorin in some way, but to sacrifice the dearest of them…

“We’ll do it,” Fili said without any hesitation. Kili nodded in agreement, though it didn’t escape Bilbo’s notice that he was shaking. “Kili and I. You can take two people, right?”

Luthien nodded. “Few are willing to sacrifice even the one required, let alone two. But I can turn as many as want to into fayth. Perhaps it would be easier to become Spira’s hope together.”

Thorin swallowed thickly, looking positively torn. He had promised his sister that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her sons, and here they were offering to become his final aeon!

“A moment,” Thorin interrupted, one hand massaging his temples. “I need a moment.”

“Take your time,” Luthien assured him, her eyes full of understanding that seemed out of place given the choice she was presenting. Shouldn’t she of all people have tried to find another way under the circumstances? “I will wait beyond this door for your answer. Rest here. No fiends will trouble you. You shall have peace and quiet to make your decision.”

There would be quiet maybe, but the haunted look in Thorin’s eyes suggested there would be no peace. Not when his nephews had been the first to offer their lives. But then, what other choices did Thorin have? Balin and Dwalin were both his cousins, sword-brothers since youth. Gandalf had been through all of this so many times, and though his help was valued, the bond there would not do the job. As for Bilbo, well… He couldn’t pretend that he would be a better choice than any of the others. Putting aside how short a time they’d known each other, would it even work? He wasn’t real. Could a dream become a fayth? Did he even want to? It almost felt like settling; if he couldn’t save Thorin, he could at least die with him.

Luthien faded, and Thorin sank to the ground heavily.

“Let us do it,” Kili insisted, finding his voice at last. “We want to defeat Sin as much as you do!”

“But then you would become a new Sin in turn,” Thorin reminded him, looking into his nephew’s eyes. “You would stay that way until someone else managed to defeat you. It could be a centuries long wait, and by then, your souls would be stained with blood.”

“But at least Sin would be out of the mountain,” Fili argued. “We’ve never been inside it. We wouldn’t miss it.”

“You lads have much to live for,” Balin argued, earning a grateful look from Thorin for his intervention. “And if you die with Thorin, the succession will be thrown into chaos. Think of your mother! I could not enter a Travel Agency again without fearing death at her hands if I didn’t try to stop you.”

That had some of the desired effect, Fili and Kili both looking down sheepishly. Dwalin saw his chance and took it.

“You love Thorin,” he said simply. “We all do. But it should be me.”

There was something to admire about the way Dwalin offered no justifications. He said it like it was true, and maybe it was. Dwalin probably would make the strongest final aeon, just based on his physical strength and bond with Thorin.

It was Dwalin’s turn to argue with Thorin, though they switched to their native language to do it. That only left Bilbo and Gandalf unable to understand, though Bilbo got the impression that maybe Gandalf understood more than he was letting on. Then Dwalin gave Bilbo a look, and he understood too. Dwalin was telling him to keep quiet. To live through all of this, and tell everyone the truth, something Gandalf hadn’t been able to do. But then, defying their expectations was something Bilbo was becoming practiced at these days.

“Wait just a second,” he said, interrupting Thorin and Dwalin. “Thorin, you said you would let me talk to Lady Luthien, remember?”

“I did, but-”

“No buts,” Bilbo insisted. “Why are you all getting twisted up over who is going to die with Thorin when there still might be another way? Save those kinds of decisions for when we really know it has to happen.”

The dwarves all wore pitying expressions, even Fili and Kili who had apparently given up at last, despite their earlier optimism. Now, faced with the true weight of the sacrifice he was expected to make, Thorin no longer had much hope of doing anything else, it seemed, though he would do it very unwillingly. It was as if Luthien’s words had made it all real to him, and his life so far had just been a dream. Unexpectedly, it was Gandalf who backed Bilbo up.

“Bilbo is right,” he said. “I have walked many summoners to exactly this same point, and faced with the decision you now have, none of them truly thought to try something else. They thought that because an ancient Unsent told them to do it, there must truly be no other way. Such a terrible thing must be true and utterly unavoidable, they told themselves. To question that, to take advantage of such a long memory, never even occurred to them.”

“Gandalf, are you saying there’s another way?” Thorin asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You said nothing before.”

“I don’t know if there is another way,” Gandalf admitted. “But I believe there must be, and so I wouldn’t have you line up your guardians for execution just yet. I thought you believed that if anyone could find out, it would be Bilbo.”

“I do believe that,” Thorin replied stubbornly. “I have always believed it. But that does not mean another way exists.”

“Then let us continue to believe it, and do our best not to fall into the trap of ‘there is no other way,’” Gandalf said with a satisfied nod. “Many summoners have faced Sin in the same way, believing that this time might just be the last one. But some say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different result.”

“You would know,” Thorin observed, crossing his arms. Bilbo wanted to march right over there and demand Thorin apologize for his rudeness, but to everyone’s surprise, Gandalf just sighed. It was like watching the weight of all of the pilgrimages he’d been on had finally caught up with him, and something clicked in Bilbo’s mind, like he’d just been given the last piece of the puzzle that was Gandalf.

“Yes,” the so-called legendary guardian admitted. “I would.”

* * *

 

Thorin decided they would spend the night below the stairs, and face Luthien in the morning. He needed time to think, he claimed, and when pressed insisted that he wasn’t trying to decide which of his guardians would become the fayth. If not for the long look Thorin gave Bilbo as he said this, Bilbo might not have believed him. Thorin was conflicted. For the first time, it seemed like he might be willing to give up rather than let someone die along with him. Normally, Bilbo might have taken the opportunity to add his own voice to Thorin’s thoughts, encouraging him to value the lives of his kin, particularly his nephews, but this time he kept silent.

Bilbo remembered the shades of the summoners and guardians, and some of them still swirled about the room, snatches of conversation audible. With these long dead souls debating the merits of the sacrifice they would inevitably make, what else was left for them to say? If Thorin wanted to think, let him. When they went through that door, Bilbo would ask Luthien what had happened when Gil-Galad and Elendil had fought Sin. He would demand she explain what the difference had been, because she of all people had to know. And there, maybe, there would be some hint for what else they could do. He didn’t expect Luthien to have all of the answers. Who could say when the last time she had left the ruins of Doriath had been? But she had to know something.

And what if she didn’t? Would he let one of the dwarves become a fayth, just to take advantage of what all the fayth knew? They weren’t elves. Once they became a fayth, there could be no return. To save Thorin, would he let one of the others sacrifice themself? It felt like such a zero sum game, this business of saving Spira while saving the summoners.

Bilbo sighed and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Maybe it was time to actually have a talk with Gandalf, he thought with a look at the legendary guardian. Gandalf, as was often the case, sat off to one side, slightly apart from the rest of them. Having carried the secrets they had just learned for so long, of course he wouldn’t feel welcome. Though, would Thorin have even set out on a pilgrimage had he known that he wouldn’t be the only casualty? If he had known that fighting Sin this way could never lead to the desired outcome?

Gandalf noticed his attention, and nodded slightly. An invitation to join him that Bilbo would not refuse.

“There are a few things I should tell you,” Gandalf admitted. “Now that I think you will believe them.”

“Such as?” It was unlike Gandalf to just volunteer information unless it served his purpose in some way. Not that he was complaining.

“I believe you are wondering how I managed to enter the Shire in the first place, how a real person managed to enter the dream world,” Gandalf offered, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Of course he had wondered it, wondered if that information could be useful in dealing with Sin somehow, though at the moment it was the farthest thought from his mind. It had felt too much like a dead end to be worth pursuing. Still, Bilbo glanced back at the dwarves to see if any of them could hear before answering.

“Or how a dream person managed to leave it,” Bilbo added.

“Well, that part is easier than you might suppose,” Gandalf said. “When Sin entered the dream in order to defend it from me, it touched you. Sin’s power is great enough that you became somewhat more real. Real enough that you could not stay in the dream.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” Bilbo pointed out. “How can anything just make someone real?”

“If you ask Lady Luthien the right questions, I believe she may know the answer. I do not,” Gandalf said with visible regret. “But as for how I made it into the dream, well… I believe a demonstration would be more illustrative.”

At first nothing seemed to happen, and they sat there in silence. Then, Bilbo hear the faint moan of pyreflies, growing louder and louder, until they were floating around Gandalf’s body. Again Bilbo glanced back to see if the dwarves had noticed, but their minds were on their own concerns, and they had turned away.

“You’re dead?” Bilbo hissed in disbelief. “How long has this been going on?”

“A long, long time,” Gandalf admitted. “Not as long as Lady Luthien, but long enough, certainly.”

“But… you’re a Legendary Guardian! You’ve accompanied High Summoners! Were you dead that entire time?” Bilbo struggled to keep his voice down. He’d known Gandalf for most of his life, and he’d never noticed that his mother’s old friend was dead!

“I have been dead for most of that time, yes,” Gandalf said. “It is not that different from being alive, if you have the strength of will to endure it. Though, my memory is not what it used to be. I suspect it will not be long before I must insist on being Sent, to avoid becoming a fiend. This is likely my last pilgrimage, and I wanted it to be a significant one.”

“But-! If you’ve been doing this for so long, even through death itself, and even you don’t know of another way…” Bilbo felt like the ground had dropped out from under him. Gandalf always had a plan. But where had that been for the other summoners he’d brought to their deaths?

“My plan was a long time coming together,” Gandalf told him. “And the machinations of Yevon, led by Saruman, often impeded me. The fayth will not speak to just anyone, you know. If another summoners guardian had entered their chamber, demanding questions of them, that summoners pilgrimage might have been doomed by it.”

“Really?” It was rather alarming to realize that he really had risked Thorin’s success all those times.

“They are used to doing the asking, and after so much time set in stone, they are not always open to change,” Gandalf explained. “But, the residents of the dream world are precious to them, and the fayth view them all as their children. In some cases, as the children they were never able to have while alive. When I learned about the ancient dream of the fayth, I knew that one of the inhabitants would be the key, somehow. You have certainly enriched Thorin’s bonds with his aeons, if nothing else.”

“But what am I supposed to do? They haven’t told me anything useful so far. Nothing I can use to help Thorin,” Bilbo reminded him bitterly, turning over the ring in his pocket. “And Luthien isn’t a fayth.”

“No,” Gandalf agreed. “But you have good manners, and compared to Thorin, certainly, that is an advantage. And, I believe you found something in Isildur’s cave.”

Bilbo’s blood chilled. He hadn’t thought anyone but Thorin knew about it.

“I don’t know what-”

“Isildur was an avaricious fayth, and yet you convinced him to part with something,” Gandalf continued. “What he parted with doesn’t matter. I believe your powers of persuasion will be enough.”

That remained to be seen, as well as why Gandalf couldn’t just bargain with her himself. They were both dead after all, why couldn’t they just come to an agreement? Bilbo could add that to the list of things he never would have expected to think before leaving the Shire. The list was getting long.


	26. Yevon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much talking once again, so many plot bombs dropped, so please let me know if something doesn't make sense. Again it's based on what happened in the game, with some additions of my own, so I wonder.

“I am ready,” Thorin announced in the morning, though his hands were tightly clenched, belying his words.

As one, the company rose, and entered the door Luthien had indicated. Bilbo’s palms were sweaty, and he found himself clutching the ring to keep them steady. He needed to keep it together. And if in the end Gandalf was wrong, he needed to steel himself for that too.

The door did not lead deeper into the temple, but outside, onto the top of the dome. The whole of the ruined city was laid out beneath them, but for once Bilbo did not have the heart to admire ruins. Was this what Luthien’s shade looked at every day, for thousands of years, as she led summoners to their deaths? She was there now, staring out at the city. A dead summoner, waiting in the ruins of her dead city, unable to defeat the creature that destroyed it. 

Bilbo found himself pitying Luthien as they approached her. She had not always accepted such sacrifices in stride. There was no way that her husband becoming a fayth had been easy for her. If it had been, it wouldn’t have been a sacrifice. It wouldn’t have worked. If it seemed that her emotion and compassion had dried up over the ages, who could really blame her? Her presence there was proof that she hadn’t really wanted to die. That she had not become a fiend was proof that she still wanted to save the living, even if she had long since given up on finding another way to do it. If he could reach that part of her, maybe she would help them.

“Have you decided?” Luthien asked, turning toward them slowly. “Have you chosen the person who will renew Spira’s hope?”

They all turned to Thorin, but he didn’t answer immediately. The turmoil in his eyes was obvious, and Bilbo wanted to shake him, but he just waited with the others. His chance would come. But Thorin had to allow it. If he didn’t, there was no point in trying to save him.

“I have decided,” Thorin repeated at last. “I love my people. If dying would save them from Sin, I would do it instantly and without hesitation. But I will not ask that of another without knowing if there is another way, a more permanent way. I won’t choose a final aeon.”

The first trace of emotion appeared on Luthien’s face, sadness creasing the corners of her eyes. “If there were another way, do you think I would not have found it ages ago? Sin was born of two beings of great power, two Maia locked in battle. Their battle raged on for days, weeks, months, until eventually the power involved was too great. They became one being, always fighting for dominance within itself. Against that, only an aeon can prevail, even if in the end it becomes Sin’s armor, drawn into the battle and wrapped around it to prevent further interference.”

Thorin frowned, but Bilbo saw his opportunity. This was new information, and she had just volunteered it, in the hope of pushing a summoner back onto his path. Maybe he had a chance to learn something useful after all.

“Er, how do you know, though?” Bilbo asked, doing his best not to flinch when Luthien turned her piercing gaze on him. He had seen worse, after all. “I’ve never heard anyone talk about what Sin really is before, or what exactly a ‘Maia’ is.”

Luthien sighed this time, and he knew he’d won. She was going to answer.

“One of the beings within Sin is my mother,” she said. “The other is a servant of the great evil that once threatened this land. Together, they comprise the entity known as Yevon, the heart of Sin. Maiar are beings of great power, falling just below the Valar.”

“Yevon?” Fili breathed. “Yevon is the heart of Sin?”

Suddenly Glorfindel’s words about the corrupted fayth made sense. While elves became fayth through the power of the Valar, other races were able to due to the birth of Yevon, he had said. Most likely the result of the power of two Maia, and the will of the good soul comprising Yevon, to give her daughter a weapon against them. It was different from how fayth had generally been born before, and there was a dark power involved as well as the ones of light, resulting in ‘corrupted’ aeons. Then others followed in Luthien’s footsteps, and eventually it became ‘the way things are done.’

“Is there no way to separate the being of light from the being of darkness?” Balin asked, surprising Bilbo. The floodgates had opened, apparently, and now their private doubts were coming to light. “If she were able to gain control of the battle, would that not be the end of Sin?”

Luthien shook her head, her eyes looking fiercer and less dull by the minute. “It was the first thing I tried. To help my mother cast down Mairon must prevent the cycle from continuing, or so I hoped But you cannot get close to where they fight. The aeon that becomes Sin protects them, and without an aeon of equal power it cannot be defeated. Then, it will be drawn into their battle and protect them. There is nothing that can be done.”

The ring throbbed in Bilbo’s pocket at the mention of the name ‘Mairon,’ and he remembered his original question.

“What about when Gil Galad and Elendil fought Sin?” Bilbo asked. “Everyone says Sin was weakened permanently by that fight.”

“It was, but how, I do not know,” Luthien admitted. “I was not there, and despite what you might think, I am not omnipotent. They must have influenced the battle somehow, but I cannot imagine how.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to be disappointed, the ring a comforting weight in his hand. There had to be a way, and now they had some clues, but was it enough to turn Thorin aside? Looking at the dwarf, his brow was furrowed in deep thought, his fingers toying with his short beard. Unconsciously, Bilbo moved closer to him, noticing how the deep furrows in Thorin’s forehead smoothed out a little as a result. They were so close to saving Thorin, and he felt like he had to remind him to keep thinking, to keep fighting for another way out.

“If there is a way to defeat the aeon being used as armor without creating a final aeon, I see no reason to waste our lives giving it new armor,” Thorin said at last, with a slight smile. “If we can do that, we should be able to get near the battle. That is where other summoners made their mistakes.”

“But what would you do then?” Luthien pointed out, apparently still invested in their success despite Thorin’s unwillingness to do things her way. “In a battle between such beings, you can play no part except to be killed quickly.”

“Gil Galad and Elendil did something inside Sin,” Thorin reminded her with a grateful look at Bilbo. “They must have influenced the battle in some way. I find that more promising than sacrificing one of my nephews or cousins to give Sin another shield, even if I do not know what they did.”

Luthien shook her head again. “The stubbornness of dwarves has always been your downfall. Sin cannot be destroyed just by guessing blindly.”

“But isn’t that what you did?” Bilbo realized. “You assumed that nothing but an aeon could stop them, and you just gave them another weapon in the process. At least if we fail, Sin won’t be any stronger.”

Luthien’s eyes widened, and Bilbo could feel the eyes of the company on him as well. It had certainly been a very Tookish thing to say, but well, wasn’t Luthien just as responsible for this mess as the people who made up Sin, in her way? He didn’t mean to twist the knife; she was dead already after all. And she’d only been trying to protect her people, but that didn’t change the damage she’d done. Without armor, without absorbing aeons, what else could have been tried? Even now, how many summoners could have done more had they known what really lurked inside Sin? More than likely, ignorance had wasted their lives just as surely as anything else.

“Go, then,” Luthien said, her expression closing off. “I will be here when you realize that you were wrong.”

“That won’t happen,” Thorin said with more confidence than he probably felt. On instinct, Bilbo took his hand, and Thorin responded with an immediate comforting squeeze. He could barely believe it. It had worked. Thorin had changed his mind. They might all still die, but at least it wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

Luthien frowned, but then her eyes narrowed on Bilbo, as if seeing him for the first time. “What is that you carry?” she asked, striding forward with far more speed than she’d demonstrated before.

Bilbo recoiled instinctively, his retreat halted by Thorin’s grip on him. The ring in his other hand felt like a lead weight. He was trapped, and he couldn’t explain why he felt that way.

“Open your hand,” Luthien ordered, something swirling in her eyes, animating her lovely features with a strange light. He had always known she was dead, but now she seemed even farther from mortal.

“Do it,” Gandalf advised him softly.

It took tremendous effort to pry his fingers open, revealing the ring to the dead woman. He had an irrational fear that she would try to take it, but why would she want it, or why would it matter? It was just a little gold ring, and she was dead. What did a dead woman need jewelry for?

“Where did you find this?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“In Isildur’s cave,” Bilbo told her faintly. “He said he found it inside Sin, and something about it changed him. Even when his fayth was stolen, the one who stole him took this too.”

“And Isildur let you take it?” Luthien asked, her eyes never leaving his face. It calmed his fear a little. She was more interested in the truth than in the ring.

“He said it didn’t affect him anymore, but it drew dangerous fiends into his cave. The whole place had a very sick feeling,” Bilbo admitted.

“It drove my father mad,” Thorin added grimly.

Luthien’s displeasure with them was replaced by determination. Her mouth was set in a thin line, and Bilbo wondered what she saw in this little golden band that could change her mind so much.

“Keep it close,” she advised Bilbo. “Perhaps your quest is not as doomed as I had supposed.”

“My lady, is this-” Gandalf began, and Luthien cut him off with a shake of the head.

“I do not know,” she admitted. “But if you bring this inside Sin, it may give you a chance. Do not mistake me,” she added with a warning look. “If I am right, there is a place inside Sin where you will have to destroy it. If I am right, you will be able to influence the outcome of the battle. But if I am wrong, you will die just as surely as I said.”

“With so small a thing, we can change the outcome of the battle?” Thorin asked, clear skepticism in his voice.

Luthien actually smiled at that, her expression nearly blinding. “Some have made the mistake of calling hobbits small,” she said with a significant look. “I am told they often have cause to regret it.”

Thorin made no reply to this, shifting uncomfortably and tightening his grip on Bilbo.

“We are grateful for your advice, my Lady,” Gandalf said, breaking the silence. “I know this is not how things are generally done.”

“The way things are generally done has not worked,” Luthien replied wryly. “Perhaps it is time for me to fade, and leave these matters to others. It is clear that I have grown too set in my ways to see what is right in front of me.”

“If that was true, we wouldn’t know what we have to do now,” Kili pointed out with a wink.

Luthien gave a short laugh. “Perhaps. If you are successful, Thorin son of Thrain, in casting down Sin, never to rise again, return here. With Sin gone, I will require a Sending, along with those of my people who remain here as Unsent.”

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo glanced at Gandalf without meaning to. He gave a small nod as well, though none of the dwarves noticed.

“There is an airship coming this way,” Luthien told them with a distant look. “Coming for you, I would imagine. Go, and may the Valar protect you.”

Bilbo bowed, and the dwarves followed suit, before turning and running back into the temple.

“What changed your mind?” Bilbo asked Thorin as they ran. “Why did you decide to give this a chance, after everything I said?”

Thorin smiled at him. “Sin was an unknown quantity before. No one knew what it really was, only that it kills everything that gets in its way. But dwarves are good at finding weaknesses, once we know what something is.”

“Oh, is that all?” Bilbo said dryly. It seemed optimistic to suggest that they could have any impact on a battle between beings that were close to gods. No matter what Luthien might say about the ring.

“There is one other thing,” Thorin admitted, his gaze unwavering. “Of my guardians, I asked three things: loyalty, honor, and a willing heart. I did not ask for their lives. I did not ask for your life either, and I will not take it.”

With a pang, Bilbo remembered that his life was bound to the fayth, bound to their dreams. What would happen if they did manage to affect the battle raging inside Sin? Would the fayth continue to dream? Would they even be able to? Thorin might have been convinced to live, but now Bilbo had to resign himself to the possibility of his own death. He had known it was a possibility before, but it felt more real now, with what might be a real solution in their hands.

When they reached the outside of the dome, the airship was waiting, hovering a safe distance above the courtyard. Around it, fiends growled and menaced, trying to reach the ship, and they had to clear a path through them before it could fly low enough for them to board. As Dwalin, the last to board, reached the stairs, he paused, as if listening for something.

“Brother, the fiends are returning,” Balin urged him.

Dwalin frowned. “The ground is shaking.”

“The mountain,” Thorin breathed, running to the other side of the ship in search of a window.

Smoke was rising from the mountain, and Bilbo realized they were out of time. “The Crusaders have begun their operation! We need to get out of here, now!”

Bifur and Bofur were already having a shouted exchange in dwarvish, and the unmistakable sound of the engine kicking into gear sounded. Dwalin appeared in the cockpit, and then the airship was flying as fast as it could out of the way.

“We must go back!” Thorin urged. “This is our chance to destroy Sin!”

“The falling rock will knock us out of the air,” Dwalin argued. “We can’t get close, not until the smoke clears.”

But wasn’t the smoke part of Sin? Bilbo thought back to when Sin had attacked the Shire. He remembered very little of the attack aside from fire and screams, but Sin had looked almost like a fiery cloud to him. What they saw as Bifur brought the ship around, keeping a safe distance and hovering over the Calm Lands, was not a cloud at all.

“A dragon,” Bilbo breathed, as the beast burst out of the mountain. 

The Crusaders hadn’t succeeded in bringing the mountain down. Part of the front section had collapsed, but the beast that emerged from the wreckage did not look hurt. It just looked angry. More importantly, it was not Sin, and no one else seemed to realize it.


	27. The Burning Plain

“This is our chance,” Thorin declared, already heading for the stairs to the roof of the ship. “Ready the main guns. We can’t let the damage the Crusaders have done be for nothing.”

“Thorin-” Bilbo tried to say, but the dwarves were far louder. He looked for Gandalf, knowing he at least cut generally cut through the chatter, but there was no sign of him on the bridge.

“We’ll need plenty of warning when you want to fire ‘em,” Bofur pointed out, translating Bifur’s frantic signing. “This ships not as young as it used to be.”

“Can we outrun Sin if we need to?” Balin asked. “It’s fast. We don’t want to go down for their fools errand either.”

“The engine’s as good as it gets,” Gloin said, patting the hull fondly. “Best in its day. Should be enough.”

Balin frowned at the ‘should be,’ but he followed Thorin without further objection. Seeing that he would get nowhere on the bridge, where everyone was shouting orders far louder than he could compete with, Bilbo followed as well. Fili and Kili tried to do the same, but Dwalin stopped them with a significant look at their recent injuries. Well, at least the most reckless ones would be safe this time, Bilbo thought wryly. Not that he would be if he couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“Thorin,” he tried again, but this time the airship rocked, knocking them all over.

“It’s trying to use us for cover,” one of the dwarves on the bridge shouted.

“We need to get up there,” Thorin said through gritted teeth, pulling himself to his feet.

“Wait,” Bilbo insisted, grabbing Thorin’s arm. “There’s something you should know before we engage it. It’s not Sin, Thorin. It’s just a Sinspawn.”

Finally, Thorin stopped in his tracks, the other dwarves staring like Bilbo had just grown a second head.

“What do you mean, it’s not Sin?” Thorin demanded. “I know the beast that attacked my home, that drove my people into exile!”

“Think about it!” Bilbo pressed. “Have you ever really gotten a good look at Sin when it attacks? In Kilika, we were too late. In Macalania, it carried us off before we knew what was happening. When it killed your brother, you didn’t make it until Sin was gone, right?”

A vein pulsed in Thorin’s jaw, but he just nodded tightly.

“You may be right, but how do you know for certain that it’s not?” Balin asked. “Sin changes form every time.”

“It attacked the Shire, remember?” Bilbo pointed out. “I saw it up close. Kili can even confirm that I had Sin’s toxin in my hair.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, the irritation leaving him suddenly, as if the presence of Sin’s toxin was indisputable proof. “There was no toxin left behind the day it attacked the mountain,” he recalled. “We assumed that the fire burned it all away, and were grateful that at least all who survived the attack were of sound mind.”

“What does Sin actually look like?” Dwalin demanded, throwing a steadying hand against the wall as the ship rocked again.

Bilbo struggled to remember. Where was Gandalf when he needed him? “Almost like a cloud of darkness,” he admitted. “But strangely fiery. As if a fire burned beneath the surface of the clouds.” Was somewhere in there where he was supposed to destroy the ring?

“Well, I imagine you’d know it when you see it,” Balin allowed. Off to one side, Dwalin seemed to be reporting this information to the bridge with a communicator.

“That means the creature that stole our home can be defeated,” Thorin realized. “I can use my aeons against it. Why did you stop me?”

“I didn’t want you trying something reckless against something that’s not Sin, or holding back to avoid something happening to the aeons,” Bilbo explained impatiently. “You said it yourself, didn’t you? That dwarves can beat something as long as they know what it is? Let’s go, before the Crusaders decide to use us for target practice.”

The ship rocked several more times as they made their way to the upper deck, but Gandalf was waiting for them there. How he had managed to avoid falling off would likely remain a mystery, but Bilbo had to remind himself that Gandalf was dead. Maybe that gave him some tricks that living people didn’t have. Or maybe Gandalf had always been strange.

The view from the upper deck was enough to make Bilbo’s knees quake, and he understood why the dwarves had just assumed this particular Sinspawn was Sin. The Calm Lands were burning, the enraged dragon circling over them and breathing flame. Near the base of the mountain, the Crusaders tried to aim weapons at it, but many of their weapons had been crushed by falling rock when the Sinspawn forced its way out of the mountain. Others had been caught by the landslide their explosives had triggered. Apparently they had dwarves working with them, but not dwarves who cared to mention how far a landslide was likely to travel.

Fear grabbing at him, Bilbo looked for the Travel Agency where they had left Dís, hoping she had fled to another agency. Then again, this was Thorin’s sister, who defended her own with axe in hand. She might well be with the Crusaders, keeping fiends off the men trying to unearth the trapped weapons. Or she might be trapped in a ring of fire. Either way, they would have to trust that she could handle herself. Staying upright on top of the airship was hard enough.

As they sped toward the Sinspawn, Bilbo found himself wondering how exactly they were going to hit it. Fili and Kili had been left belowdecks due to injury, but both of them also had ranged weapons. Even if he had rocks to throw, would they even distract something that huge? Thorin’s arrows, handed off to Dwalin so that one of them could shoot and the other could summon, didn’t even seem to scratch it.

“It’s too heavily armored,” Dwalin barked into the communicator. “The aeons might work, but the rest of us are sitting ducks up here.”

“We’re gonna try attracting its attention,” Bofur announced over the loudspeaker, apparently in response. “Look tasty as we fly by, maybe draw it off the Crusaders.”

“Then lure it close enough to blast it with the main guns,” Gloin finished for him, with far more relish than Bilbo could feel with the world whipping by underneath him.

“At close range, they might have a chance of piercing that armor,” Gandalf admitted. “But if the shot is too close, the shockwave will knock us off the ship.”

“When it gets close enough, we signal the bridge, then run for the door,” Thorin decided, his eyes closed as he focused on calling an aeon.

“Only if you make sure to do the same,” Balin said, eyebrows raised.

“None of us is wasting their life over a Sinspawn,” Thorin replied, though Balin’s frown suggested he wasn’t completely convinced. This was the Sinspawn that had taken their home from them, after all. All along, it had been defeatable with the right amount of force. If there was a time when Thorin was likeliest to make bad decisions, this was that time.

Just approaching the Sinspawn nearly did them in. Though it paid them little mind, focusing on harrying the Crusaders below, its long tail whipped out behind it, nearly sweeping Bilbo off the deck. Apparently they weren’t tasty-looking enough to merit the attention. When the tail wasn’t an issue, the heat from the flames in breathed forced the airship to retreat, and the soot in the air made them to squint. What must it like to be down on the ground, trying to unearth weapons when the plains themselves were on fire, Bilbo wondered? How had the Crusaders not given up and fled?

Finally, Thorin lowered his arms, and the sky above them opened up. Bahamut surged down from the clouds, rushing at the Sinspawn and slashing at it with his claws. Bahamut had never looked small, not to Bilbo anyway, but even he was dwarfed by the dragon. The Sinspawn swatted at him, to little effect, but it finally saw them standing on the deck of the airship, Thorin staring it down, the only one of them standing fully upright.

“Is that all you can manage, worm?” Thorin shouted, ignoring the panicked stares of his guardians. “Sleeping in the mountain has left you weak and slow, barely more than a common fiend!”

The Sinspawn’s eyes narrowed, as if it understood what Thorin was saying. The tone was certainly clear enough, but then Bilbo had no idea how intelligent it was supposed to be. Fiends were all dead people, after all. As especially powerful fiends, what did that make Sinspawn? Unsent guardians, protecting the final aeon their summoner worked so hard to get? Not that it mattered now.

Bilbo blinked, and the Sinspawn charged, completely ignoring Bahamut trying to scrape at its scales. He froze in place, transfixed by the beast’s stare, and only remembered that this was his cue to run for the door when Thorin and Balin grabbed him and started pulling him toward it. The hatch came open immediately and they all piled inside, barely avoiding a gout of flame.

No one spoke, and for a moment the only sound was their heavy breathing and the heavy thunk of the main guns firing at the Sinspawn. A harsh shriek rent the air, but it wasn’t followed by anything that sounded like a heavy creature falling to the ground.

“Bofur, what is the status of the Sinspawn?” Thorin demanded into Dwalin’s communicator.

“Looks like we made a hole, but it’s still flying around out there,” Bofur confirmed over the intercom. “The main guns are out of shells, it’ll take time to reload them.”

Distantly, they heard one of the dwarves shout, “evasive maneuvers,” and then the ship tilted sharply, throwing them all into a pile of limbs and hair.

“What are the Crusaders doing?” Gandalf asked once he had separated himself from the pile.

“One of them is setting up something,” Gloin reported. “Seems to be loading it with something unusual.”

“Can you describe the Crusader?” Bilbo asked, his heart pounding. He had a suspicion. Just a suspicion, but if he was right, he had a feeling he was going to regret not forcing them to land and tell the Crusaders that it wasn’t Sin.

“We’re too far away,” Ori complained. “And it’s heading straight for him!”

Bilbo scrambled out of the pile, making for the door to the deck. Thorin grabbed him by the ankle.

“It’s too dangerous to go back out there,” he argued, his grip too tight to just shake off. “The deck might still be hot.”

“I need to see this,” Bilbo disagreed. “The Crusaders had to have a backup plan. They wouldn’t have come all this way without one. Maybe whatever it is could help us against Sin. Aren’t you curious to see?”

Thorin’s fingers on his ankle loosened, and Bilbo walked out onto the deck without looking back. There were scorch marks on the deck now from the fire they’d just barely avoided, but otherwise it was intact, and fairly cool to the touch.

Captain Bard, loading some kind of metal arrow into one of the guns, probably wasn’t feeling as cool at the moment. Where the other Crusaders had gone, Bilbo couldn’t say, but there was only one man between the Sinspawn and the mountain, and even from a distance Bilbo knew it was the captain. Still, it seemed like a strange secret weapon, whatever it was. He couldn’t see much of it, but nothing about it seemed particularly high tech. It was just a long metal shaft, but maybe that would be enough. The Sinspawn was approaching him without any particular hurry, slow enough that hopefully Bard would see the smoking hole in its scales where the main guns had blasted through.

“It’s toying with him,” Thorin observed, nearly startling Bilbo into falling off the deck. Apparently the call of a secret weapon had been enough. Or maybe just wanting to make sure that his hobbit didn’t fall to his death. Knowing Thorin, either seemed fairly likely.

“I haven’t seen a fiend do that before,” Bilbo admitted, well aware that his experience with fiends was limited in comparison. “This one seems smarter than most of the ones we’ve fought.”

“A sadist in life, perhaps,” Thorin suggested, his expression not changing. Maybe there was another reason he’d come on deck, Bilbo allowed: the chance to see his lifelong enemy slain.

Captain Bard finally stopped adjusting the weapon, moving to stand behind it and taking careful aim. The Sinspawn didn’t change speed or course, apparently not seeing the puny human and his little cannon as a threat. Then Bard loosed the arrow, and for a moment Bilbo imagined that he heard the Hymn of the Fayth, before the arrow slammed into the hole left by the main guns and the Sinspawn stopped in its tracks.

“He actually hit it,” Balin breathed, giving Bilbo another start as he realized that none of them had waited inside after all.

The Sinspawn tried to breathe fire, tried to rush at Bard, but it was no longer capable of either. It coughed up sparks, tried to spread its wings, but only managed to fly over one of the ravines dotting the Calm Lands. It choked one more time, then fell into the ravine, tearing rock from either side as it fell, disappearing into the darkness.

“It’s dead,” Thorin said, his eyes wide as he stared out at where the Sinspawn had fallen. “The mountain is empty again.” He looked as if he didn’t believe it, but then his people had been living in fear of it for over a century. Despite their best attempts to fight back, it had driven them out of their home, when all it had taken to kill it was some heavy artillery and a strange arrow that even as they watched was flying out of its body and back toward Bard.

“There is something different about that arrow,” Gandalf observed, squinting down at the Crusader captain. “It was not made by the hand of Man or Dwarf.”

“I think it might be an aeon,” Bilbo admitted hesitantly, knowing how ridiculous it must sound to them. “I heard the Hymn of the Fayth when he launched it.”

“I’ve never seen an aeon that looks like that,” Balin said, though he frowned thoughtfully.

“I heard it too,” Thorin told them with a quick smile at Bilbo that quickly faded into his usual sternness. “Captain Bard was once a summoner, and we know that he made it to Zanarkand.”

“That arrow might be his final aeon,” Bilbo finished for him, realization dawning on him. “He probably thought that Sinspawn was Sin, and saw no other way out except to use it against it.”

“Perhaps we should enlighten him, then,” Gandalf suggested. “By now he will be wondering when the arrow is going to kill him.”

“Check the Agency first,” Thorin ordered into the communicator. “If Dís is down there, she’s about to be inundated with wounded Crusaders. We will warn her, and then you can go back and pick up their wounded.”

“You don’t think something happened to her?” Bilbo asked, looking up at Thorin in surprise.

Thorin shook his head, though Bilbo noticed that his hands were shaking and took one without a word. “There are cannons mounted on the roof of every Agency,” Thorin explained, lacing their fingers together. The shaking stilled, and they made their way back into the airship. “She can take care of herself.”

The airship landed close to the Agency, close enough to see that the flames hadn’t even come close. A motion-sensing cannon on the roof turned toward them instantly, but then went limp, as if the power had been cut.

“Is it gone?” Dís demanded, opening the door to the agency just enough to peek out.

“It’s dead!” Kili shouted, barreling down the ramp toward his mother. “Dead and gone, never to return!”

“The Crusaders are probably coming this way,” Thorin told her, emerging just behind Fili, who was also in a hurry to embrace his mother. “Their operation did not go entirely as planned.”

“They so rarely do,” she observed, looking in the direction of the mountain as she hugged her boys. “But how… was that not Sin?”

“A mere Sinspawn,” Thorin confirmed, the bitterness in his voice surprising Bilbo as he made his own way out of the ship.

“Then why do you look so glum, dear brother?” Dís demanded. “Our people can take back their home again, if they want to, instead of living in the desert and hoping Yevon will leave them alone. You can give up this fight against Sin, and return to being just a king.”

That was a possibility Bilbo hadn’t even considered. The fight against Sin had always been about getting back his home, and now that he had it, why would Thorin press on? Even after they had learned that maybe, just maybe, it could be done without loss of life, there was still a risk. Would Thorin now think that it wasn’t worth the risk? If so, it was hard to blame him, but Bilbo was torn. Was the Thorin he admired someone who gave up when something no longer directly benefited him? Even if it meant that they could both live?

When Thorin looked at him, his eyes searching Bilbo’s as if he would find the right answer there, Bilbo didn’t know what answer to give. He wanted to live. He wanted Thorin to live. But as long as Sin survived, that would always be in doubt. Sin killed wantonly, without morals or even conscious thought. As long as it existed, there was still the chance that their time together would be cut short. Now it was Bilbo’s turn to face sacrifice and hope he could be as brave as Thorin.

“You’re going to continue, aren’t you?” Bilbo asked, both a question and a plea. “We might have found another way,” he added for Dís’s benefit, though she did not look comforted.

Thorin frowned. “I need to think on it,” he admitted. “It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Dís sighed. “Tell me everything,” she ordered, beginning yet another very long night.


	28. The Longest Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This late chapter brought to you by: getting a new job and having car trouble.

“It wasn’t Sin,” someone said in a hushed and disbelieving voice for what felt like the hundredth time that night. At first it had seemed strange that they wouldn’t know, considering that the Crusaders fought Sin as their vocation, but Bilbo soon understood the reason: those who had seen Sin were no longer alive. It was an occupational hazard.

The only one who hadn’t struggled to believe that it hadn’t been Sin was Captain Bard, who of course had the dubious honor of slaying the beast, and had suspected something was off when nothing became of his aeon. He sat off to one side in the Travel Agency, out of the way of the healers, the huge arrow in one hand, staring down at it like he had disappointed someone somehow. But then, of course he would feel that way. Bilbo remembered the way the captain had protested the necessity of his wife’s sacrifice in Zanarkand. He had used the arrow expecting to die in the process, only to discover that he had used it on something lesser. It had to sting, considering that the arrow was his wife’s aeon form. On the other hand, at least she hadn’t been enslaved by Yevon in the process.

Bilbo had expected the captain to be more tight-lipped about the arrow being an aeon, but having revealed that he had it, the floodgates had opened. Until that moment, faced with the landslide and the fire, his comrades falling into the ravine rather than face the Sinspawn, he still hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the sacrifice his wife had made. Only then had he finally been willing to use his final aeon, and bring an end to Sin, only to discover that it hadn’t been Sin at all.

“We’re grateful for your assistance, Summoner Thorin,” was really all Bard could say after that, running his hands through his hair and clearly too far in his own head at the moment to articulate much more. But Thorin responded by wearing himself out healing burned Crusaders, wringing out the absolute last drops of his magic. He could have saved some of it, and no one would have thought less of him. But if one thing had become clear, it was that wearing himself out was something Thorin needed to do. That was just the kind of person he was, especially if there was some chance that using his magic in this way would make the fight with Sin less fatal.

Some small part of Bilbo wondered if Thorin doing his best to heal the Crusaders was his way of thanking Bard. Though a section of the mountain had collapsed, he had driven out the Sinspawn, and delivering the killing blow to the creature that had troubled Thorin for so long. Bilbo knew Thorin had wanted to do it himself, so perhaps a combination of guilt and gratitude was at work.

When the wounded Crusaders finally quieted, Dís could no longer be prevented from having her way.

“We’ll discuss this more in the morning, but for now you need your rest,” she insisted, throwing one of Thorin’s arms around her shoulders. Dwalin moved to help her, but she gave a short shake of the head. “Bilbo, if you would take the other side?”

Bilbo still wasn’t strong enough to carry a dwarf on his own, but Dís more than had it covered. She clearly didn’t need his help, so it remained to be seen why she had asked for it. At least Thorin attempted to put one foot in front of the other, instead of just collapsing and letting them do all the work.

“Here we are,” Dís announced, lowering Thorin onto a bed in one of the very few single rooms. “Please get some sleep, I want you awake enough for our conversation tomorrow.”

Thorin made a noncommittal grunt, but apparently that was enough for Dís, because she left, leaving Bilbo standing awkwardly beside the bed. He should follow her, he knew. Thorin was probably asleep already, considering how much magic he’d used. Yet Bilbo stayed, torn with wanting to let Thorin rest and wanting to confirm something for himself. Things had changed since Zanarkand, but as far as they were concerned, had things changed enough? Was it still better to keep his distance, not knowing what would happen in the end? So much hesitation for someone who had begged Thorin to live and nearly jumped him in the woods, but this was hardly the time to be bringing that up again. Then again, when would he get another chance?

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked blearily, still awake despite the fact that he should have conked out immediately.

“Sorry, sorry, I got lost in thought,” he admitted, which of course was true. “I’ll leave you to your sleep.”

“Stay,” Thorin said, reaching out and catching Bilbo’s wrist. His grip was stronger than Bilbo expected for a man completely out of energy.

Reluctantly, Bilbo sat down on the bed, Thorin’s warmth creeping through despite the cold weather clothing he’d forgotten to shed in Zanarkand. “You should sleep,” he protested weakly, hoping Thorin couldn’t feel the way his pulse climbed under that heavy hand.

“I should,” Thorin agreed, his eyelids heavy. Then, tightening his grip on Bilbo’s wrist briefly, “You’re worried.”

Bilbo started. Was he worried? It had become a constant thing ever since he learned what being a summoner meant. He hadn’t been calm since… he couldn’t remember anymore. When he hadn’t been worried about Thorin, he’d been worried about himself, or about Fili and Kili. Just another part of Spira.

“You don’t have to fight Sin,” he found himself saying, guilty just suggesting it. “We know there’s another way now, but it still might end up killing us. Your people need you alive just as much as they always have.”

The corners of Thorin’s eyes softened. “Would you still respect me if I said I didn’t want to anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Bilbo admitted. Especially when selfishly, he wanted to keep living, and could possibly only do that as long as Sin remained. “I don’t think I have the right to judge anyone for quitting, especially when you have your home back. I’ll never see mine again.”

There was something different about admitting it out loud. As if until then he’d never fully believed that as a dream, the Shire was lost to him forever, even if they didn’t destroy it completely. And did they really have the right to end all of those lives, even if they weren’t real? He wasn’t real, and here he was. Wanting things that fake people didn’t have any right to want. Did he have the right to tell Thorin to end those lives, lives just as real as his?

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, looking up at Bilbo in concern.

“The Shire was destroyed,” Bilbo reminded him, his heart pounding as he realized how close he’d been to giving away his secret. No, that was something Thorin could never, ever know.

Thorin frowned, as if he was just a bit too tired to puzzle out the piece he was missing. “You would be welcome in Erebor,” he said at last. “No matter what I do. No matter what becomes of me.”

So he still hadn’t given up on a glorious death.

“Don’t say that,” Bilbo scolded him. “Erebor would never be my home, not without you.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, and the enormity of what he’d said hit Bilbo like a ton of bricks. Time and again he’d refused to put his feelings for Thorin into words, in the faint hope that it might spare him some pain later, but he couldn’t have done so more clearly even if he had said the dreaded words. And now that there was a way for Thorin to live and still get what he wanted, was there any reason to avoid saying it any longer?

“Then I suppose no matter what I choose to do, I have to survive,” Thorin finally said, releasing Bilbo’s wrist and letting his hand climb higher up his arm.

“Oh, only now do you start valuing your life?” Bilbo observed tartly, feeling the back of his neck redden. “You were in such a hurry to throw it away before.”

“Things changed,” was all Thorin said, smirking slightly, and though Bilbo knew it was a bad idea, he leaned down, letting Thorin’s hand find his hair. Once his head was trapped, there was nothing for it, really. Or so he would tell himself afterwards.

It was only their second kiss, after assiduously trying to avoid acknowledging that anything had happened, but it already felt familiar. A good kind of familiar. Like home, which was both fitting and terrifying, when Bilbo considered that he had to steel himself for the possibility of vanishing, or whatever dreams did when they were over. Slipped through your fingers like water, maybe. But that all assumed a lot about Sin and the fayth. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance there could be more than this second kiss, heartbreakingly tender where the first had been passionate and desperate. He would have to hope so.

When Bilbo pulled back, Thorin let him go, his fingers dragging through Bilbo’s curls. “You really are going to do it, aren’t you?” Bilbo asked, his voice quieter and rougher than before.

“If I can,” Thorin agreed, sounding less certain than Bilbo would have preferred. “My people will never truly be safe until Sin is gone for good.”

“I’m sure Yevon would love it if the last High Summoner was a dwarf,” Bilbo observed, finding Thorin’s grin infectious.

“The last High Summoner…” Thorin repeated, as if feeling out the words for the first time. Then his expression hardened, his decision apparently made for certain this time. “You will stay with me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Bilbo asked, taken aback.

Thorin’s eyes were already closed, sleep finally taking precedence. Bilbo let out a little huff, then rose from the bed. Apparently he wasn’t as hard to read as he’d hoped.

* * *

 

“I’m coming with you,” Dís announced over breakfast, all of Thorin’s current and former guardians sitting on the grass outside the Travel Agency to let the Crusaders get their rest.

Bilbo expected Thorin to object, considering how he’d dismissing his huge gaggle of guardians before, but he simply asked, “Why now?”

“It’s very simple. I never wanted to watch you get yourself killed,” she explained. “But if you truly have found another way, a way that might banish Sin forever and let you live to see that world, I’m not letting you run off without me. This I support, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Thorin said nothing, chewing his breakfast as he thought it over.

“Dís should come,” Dwalin said, surprising Bilbo.

“Like Thorin, she has magic along with her physical prowess,” Balin told Bilbo. “Only, her magic is offensive.”

Somehow that was completely unsurprising.

Thorin snorted. “Having brought your sons along, I don’t think I can refuse,” he admitted. “This means you are done trying to stop me?”

“Unless it turns out that this new plan also requires your life, yes,” Dís replied. “At least this time, I’ll be there to get in your way if I have to.”

“So what’s our plan of attack?” Nori asked, immediately drawing the attention of the rest of the company.

“We can’t just fly right at Sin, it would be suicide,” Dori pointed out.

“If we can even find it first,” Ori said. “No one knows where it is most of the time.”

“The fayth may know,” Gandalf suggested. “Going back to the earlier temples is impossible as long as Yevon considers us criminals. But I know of two more temples that Yevon has forgotten, out of the way, with powerful aeons inside.”

“And you did not think to mention these before?” Thorin asked, eyebrows raised. “Even if we cannot use aeons inside Sin itself, the outside of Sin will be challenging enough.”

“One of these temples is on an island, accessible only by airship or boat,” Gandalf replied. “Until recently, we had neither.”

“And the other?” Thorin continued stubbornly.

“Sealed until all other aeons are in your possession,” Gandalf admitted.

“You mean to ask my wife for her power,” Bard observed, standing in the Agency doorway.

The tension was suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife, and Bilbo grappled for a way to dispel it.

“Does she always take the form of an arrow?” he asked Bard curiously.

Bard shook his head. “No, even Lady Luthien said that she was unique, taking the form that suits the summoner best,” he explained. “Her temple is half underwater. You will have to be careful.”

Bilbo tried not to show how alarmed the words ‘half underwater’ made him. Hobbits were really not meant to swim, and he doubted the dwarves were much more capable.

“You won’t try to stop us?” Thorin asked, watching Bard carefully.

“As long as Sin is defeated, and she doesn’t become a new one, you can do as you wish,” Bard said dismissively. “She might even be happier that way, knowing that someone else was able to use her to do what I couldn’t.”

“I don’t think so,” Bilbo admitted. “But we’ll ask her.”

Bard looked at him strangely, but one of the wounded Crusaders stirred, finally conscious enough to admit that they had a serious wound that Thorin had missed, and the moment ended. Thorin had to make his rounds among the Crusaders again, Dís had to find supplies and give instructions to her employees, and soon the rest of them were occupied in some way.

Fili and Kili, restless now that they were well and eager to do something after being left out of the fighting, were sent out on chocobos to see if anything from the sight of the landslide could be salvaged, and to see if there was a way into the mountain. In the end, there wasn’t much to report. The ravine which housed Isildur’s cave was completely buried by rubble, the entrance to the cave utterly washed away. No more summoners would wander into that cave and lose their way. Isildur had received his last down payment. Other than that, Fili and Kili just shrugged. They would have to find their way inside from the other side of the mountain, they said.

“A problem for another time,” Thorin declared, though Bilbo caught him telling Bofur to send word to Ered Luin.

Another day and night were required to finish their preparations, and trust that the Crusaders were in good hands, but eventually they piled into the airship, and set off, leaving the scorched Calm Lands behind. Fili and Kili were less than enthused to have their mother along, and fled to some hidden corner of the ship as soon as they could shake her, but Bilbo was grateful to have her along. As a group, they sorely lacked ranged weapons, and it was obvious who had taught her sons to fight. At this point, they needed all the help they could get.

The sunken temple was a long, long way from the Calm Lands. During the pilgrimage, they had traveled steadily northward, even when going from Besaid to Kilika to Luca. On any map, Zanarkand was the farthest northern point. The sunken temple was almost as far south as Luca, and much further west. Even with the speed of the airship, it was night by the time they reached it, and it became clear exactly how sunken it really was.

“This is more than half underwater,” Fili observed in disbelief. “The entrance is flooded.”

Even flooded was understating it. Only the tops of the decorative columns had survived the ages. The rest was deep underwater, including their way in. To say nothing of the aquatic fiends they saw swimming languidly around. Occasionally, the water would slop up against where they stood, suggesting a larger fiend waiting for them down there.

None of this deterred Thorin, who started stripping down to fewer layers. Did that mean he could swim, Bilbo wondered? Or was Thorin not about to let the small matter of not knowing how to swim stop him? Regardless, it was going to be a memorable and unpleasant night.


	29. The Watery Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for this chapter: for those who don't know, the aeon in this temple was keyed to a specific character in the game, and her 'element' if you wanna call it that, was pain. I made a conscious decision when mapping the aeons to specific characters to discard that, and make something original. Considering that in both cases, the aeon is the final aeon of a living character, it seemed to work.
> 
> Another thing to consider with this temple is that in the game, you have three characters who can hold their breath and fight underwater. I never got the impression that dwarves were very strong swimmers, did you? ;)
> 
> Also, chapters are probably going to come out around this time from now on, as I can't post them at work anymore.

It was always comforting whenever Thorin happened to have a plan. Even if that plan meant blowing back the water temporarily with Bahamut’s wings, and freezing it in place with Shiva’s ice. Why he had felt the need to lose layers became clear when they first stepped on the ice: it was barely strong enough to support all of them even with less weight. When asked why he didn’t just make it thicker, Thorin just nodded in the direction of an extremely large aquatic fiend watching them through the ice.

“I have to save my magic in case that thing tries to break through,” he said, and no one objected further. If they didn’t all drown, they would have to fight that fiend while underwater. That wasn’t a fight any of them wanted.

The entrance to the temple flooded with water the instant they were all safely inside. The water stopped most of the way up the stairs, leaving them free to explore the rest of the temple above the stairs without fear of drowning. Without shoes, it was not a very pleasant place. The floor was slick and slimy with aquatic plant life, the moisture in the air making it thrive. Ordinarily, Bilbo might have wondered if the fayth was water-based, but she had taken the form of an arrow, at least for Bard. That had nothing to do with water at all.

“The flooding here is from a mighty storm, coinciding with an attack by Sin,” Gandalf said conversationally, as if guessing the direction of Bilbo’s thoughts. “Some say Sin brought the storm, but it matters little. This temple is all that remains of the Baaj archipelago.”

“It wasn’t destroyed that long ago, was it?” Bilbo asked. Bard had known it was half underwater, but it seemed like an odd place to put a fayth unless it had been whole at the time.

“Within the last decade,” Gandalf agreed. “But it has always been remote, and the temple has hosted many brief fayth over the ages. The remoteness allowed Yevon to maintain some secrecy about the true nature of the final aeon.”

“Fitting then that the temple’s had the same fayth ever since it sank,” Bilbo observed wryly. “Where would Thorin’s final aeon have gone?”

“I would not have desecrated the memory of my kin by entrusting their fayth to a temple,” Thorin replied, though his tone lacked heat. “They would have been enshrined deep within the mountain, even after their soul tore free, and the statue cracked.”

“That seems… better,” Bilbo admitted, looking around at the fallen pillars, covered in moss. “Better than being trapped in a place like this, forgotten.”

“Are there other temples, Gandalf?” Fili asked curiously. “Ruined ones that don’t have fayth anymore?”

“There are ruins all over Spira,” Gandalf pointed out. “Many of them might have been temples once, but there are very few left who could tell you. I, for my part, simply don’t know.”

They stepped under an archway, and into a room with six matching pedestals, three on each side, each with a colored sphere at their base. Behind each pedestal was the faint outline of a symbol. Tracing one with his finger, Bilbo thought it looked like the symbol for Besaid temple.

“Door’s locked,” Kili announced, having traipsed over to the other side of the room. A huge lighted glyph blocked the door, so he was really just stating the obvious. Something he could always be counted on to do.

“What now?” Thorin asked Gandalf.

“I have never been here before,” Gandalf admitted. “Most of the cloister of trials seems to have been lost in the flood, but perhaps there is something here that still works. If so, it may unlock the door.”

Dís tapped one of the spheres curiously. It didn’t respond. “Do these spheres have any special meaning?”

Bilbo started. Of course, she had never been in a cloister of trials before! But the fact that there were spheres from each temple combined with the symbols had to mean something. A test perhaps, to see if the summoner had been to the other temples.

“Thorin, touch one of the spheres,” Bilbo ordered. 

Thorin raised his eyebrows, but did as he was told, prodding the nearest sphere with his index finger. Instantly, it flared to life, sending energy into the symbol behind it, and causing it to glow. The glyph covering the door remained unchanged, but Bilbo wasn’t discouraged. There were five more spheres, after all.

“It’s responding to the aeons,” Balin realized. “It’s designed to ensure that only those who have completed a full pilgrimage can obtain the power of this aeon. Touch the other spheres, Thorin.”

Thorin was already doing it, prodding each sphere until the six symbols of the six temples lit the room, and the glyph covering the door faded away. Only then did they all pause, a woman’s voice singing the hymn of the fayth suddenly audible.

“Let’s go,” Thorin said, moving toward the door to the chamber without hesitation. Bilbo followed, and the other dwarves and Gandalf came behind them, though Dís looked apprehensive. Bilbo made a mental note to ask Gandalf more about the Yevon clergy, now that they knew Yevon itself was not a god, or even a thinking being, in Dís’s hearing. As someone who hadn’t seen and heard what they had, she could still have doubts, and that could be a problem. Considering that he had never believed in the first place, Bilbo kept forgetting that the truth of Yevon could have a serious impact on any inhabitant of Spira.

Once inside the chamber of the fayth, Thorin performed the prayer and waited as he always did, though this time with his guardians all stuffed into the back of the room. Just as before, a transparent woman rose out of the ground, a perfect copy of the woman they had seen in the visions of Zanarkand. There could be no doubt now of what memory of Bard’s they had seen.

“Why is it that you desire my power?” the fayth asked without preamble. There was no introduction, no easing into the transaction. No surprise, considering that they had found her when her temple was sinking deeper into the ocean. It made sense in a way. There was only one summoner this woman had ever wanted to serve, and he had refused to use her in the usual way. For others, the bare minimum would suffice.

“To defeat Sin permanently, and end the cycle of sacrifice and death,” Thorin replied firmly.

The fayth smiled, arching an eyebrow. “A bold wish,” she observed. “With such boldness, do you really need my power?”

“I would not have half-drowned my guardians if I did not,” Thorin said without looking up. It was a half-truth at best, and outright lie at worst, but the others were still too awed by being in the presence of a fayth to contradict Thorin in front of one of them.

“Hmm,” the fayth murmured. “How do you intend to defeat the previous final aeon without losing an aeon yourself? None have managed it before.”

“None have tried,” Thorin pointed out. “They believed Luthien when she said there was no other way forward, when she was the one who put that obstacle there. In the face of such overwhelming power, there was no room for doubt.”

“So you intend to force your way through and damn the consequences,” the fayth surmised. “That will work, to a point. But the great battle you seek to interfere with will not appear before you without an aeon. As a being, Yevon has only instinct. Its’ instincts consider it unsafe to appear without an aeon to absorb. And you need it to appear in order for the weak spot to appear as well.”

“The weak spot?” Bilbo asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“The place where you must destroy your ring,” the fayth explained, and Bilbo started. “Yes, we know of it. It radiates Sin’s power, and all connected to Sin can feel it. When you enter Sin carrying it, Sin will know, and do everything it can to avoid revealing Yevon.”

So Luthien had been right after all. But then, what did that make the ring, if it had such a strong connection to Sin? And how had Isildur truly come by it? That he just found it no longer seemed plausible, and the ring throbbed in Bilbo’s pocket, as if in agreement. Not that it was hard to believe that Isildur had lied.

“What must I do to make it appear?” Thorin asked.

“You must use us,” the fayth said simply. “It takes years, decades, for Yevon to fully absorb an aeon and make it a new Sin. If you attack a possessed aeon while it is weak, you should be able to defeat it. When you have no aeons left, Yevon will be weak, and then you will be able to destroy the ring.”

“And that will destroy Sin?” Thorin demanded, finally looking up from where he knelt.

“Perhaps,” the fayth admitted, giving Bilbo a pitying look that made his knees quake. “It has never been done before, after all.” She smiled. “Maybe with you I will take a form that allows you to succeed where my husband failed. It all depends on what shape the summoner’s need takes.”

“Then-”

“Yes, I will grant you my power,” she said, becoming pure light and flowing into Thorin. When the light faded, and Thorin struggled to his feet again, he concentrated for a moment, and then a long blade appeared in his hand, simply popping into existence. One edge was straight, and the other curved, unlike any sword Bilbo had ever seen. He couldn’t help wondering what this strange design was supposed to say about Thorin.

“Is that-?” Kili asked, eyes wide with awe.

“This is this temple’s aeon,” Thorin confirmed, holding up the sword and examining it. “For Captain Bard she was an arrow, and for me she is a sword.”

It didn’t seem any likelier to fell Sin, but after testing the aeon sword on some of the amphibious fiends, Thorin declared it adequate, for a magic sword. There was something in the way he said it that made Bilbo swallow his laughter, as if Thorin’s pride as a dwarf was threatened by using a sword that hadn’t been made by someone’s hand. But if there was any aeon that could make him stronger by testing his limits, an aeon disguised as a sword was definitely that aeon. But would there be enough time? Yevon would only ignore their frolicking about for so long before they declared them troublemakers again.

“That was interesting,” Dís admitted as they piled back onto the ship. “Though I thought any but a summoner entering the chamber of the fayth was forbidden.”

“At some point we decided to ignore most of Yevon’s decrees,” Fili told her.

“Though even now we don’t really know much about why they were put in place in the first place,” Bilbo admitted. “If Yevon is the heart of Sin, what exactly is the Yevon clergy?”

“Oh, I wondered when you would ask,” Gandalf said, settling into a corner of the bridge and gesturing for them to join him. It was out of the way of the crew, so curious as he was, Bilbo sat down, Dís, Fili and Kili with him. At the volume Gandalf was speaking, everyone else who cared to hear could also listen, and Bilbo noticed Thorin’s eyes on him as he manned some console. Bilbo looked away quickly. He still didn’t know what to do when it came to Thorin, and kissing him again really had not helped.

“So, you know?” Bilbo asked, prompting Gandalf to continue.

“Oh, yes, that is how I came to know Saruman,” Gandalf admitted. “We both worked together under the banner of Yevon once, before it became clear how different our values were.”

“Is he also-?” Bilbo asked with a significant look, unwilling to completely give away Gandalf’s secret.

“Likely,” Gandalf replied softly, matching Bilbo’s look, before resuming at a more normal volume. If the other listeners found that strange, they gave no sign. “Among the higher ranking members of the Yevon clergy, it is well known that Yevon is truly the heart of Sin, and that worship of it began as a sort of misunderstanding.”

“Thousands of years feels like far too long for a misunderstanding to continue,” Dís observed, eyebrows raised skeptically.

“Well, time and destruction have a way of smoothing out rougher details, and obliterating knowledge that was once widespread,” Gandalf admitted. “When Lady Luthien discovered the secret of the final aeon, she said that aeons were like prayers to the Valar given shape, and so by extension it was her prayers that had weakened Yevon. In time, some got the idea that perhaps cutting out the middleman was the way to go.”

“So they decided to pray to Yevon, and thought that might stop Sin from attacking?” Fili surmised curiously.

“Precisely,” Gandalf confirmed with a satisfied nod. “In time, the fact that Yevon and Sin were inextricably linked was lost, and it has been many centuries since a member of the clergy actually believed that prayer could halt Sin’s destructive tendencies. Instead, comfortable being the ultimate power in the lives of most Spirans, offering prayer and repentance as the only way to remove Sin permanently, they made decrees that would prevent anyone from unseating them.”

“Like the ban on ancient technology,” Kili realized.

“Just so. As you saw with the Crusaders, and know from your own family history, it still cannot defeat Sin, but it can do more damage than Yevon is comfortable with the people knowing. And while it is true that many fayth might take offense to a summoner bringing their guardians inside the chamber of the fayth, much of that decree is simply to protect their secrets,” Gandalf explained. “The fayth after all know many things that have been forgotten, and cannot be controlled with threats.”

“Is that why Isildur was in that cave?” Bilbo asked. “Was he moved there by Yevon because he could be paid into saying things they didn’t want anyone to know?”

“It is possible,” Gandalf admitted. “I cannot say for certain. Within Yevon, there are many different factions, all with their own agendas. I can only speak for those to which I belonged, and sadly I was never one for intrigue.”

That was possibly the least believable part of the whole thing, Bilbo decided wryly.

“Then why does Yevon hate dwarves?” Kili asked, a pained silence falling over the bridge. For most of them there, it was far too familiar a topic. “There has to be more to it than the fact that we don’t listen to them. That can’t have always been true.”

“Unfortunately, you are right about that,” Gandalf told them. “Even more unfortunately, the reason is as ancient as Sin, and far more petty than you might expect.”

“Pettiness from Yevon is hardly a surprise anymore,” Thorin observed from across the bridge, not looking away from his console.

“No, perhaps not,” Gandalf allowed. “In the days before Sin, there was a disagreement between one of the ancient dwarf kingdoms and the king of Doriath. A dispute over some jewel work, and which side was in the right or wrong no longer matters. Because Lady Luthien is from Doriath, the newly minted Yevon clergy took their side on the matter, and somehow that prejudice persisted for thousands of years.”

“You’re right,” Dís agreed. “That’s unbelievably petty. And yet they made up all of these righteous reasons why we were scum, and people believed them!”

The trip back to the Calm Lands was silent after that, the dwarves privately fuming over whatever wrongs Yevon had dealt them over the course of their lives. It was entirely understandable, but eventually Bilbo couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t exactly expect cheerfulness and laughter, not after almost ridiculous number of depressing things they’d been exposed to recently, but dwelling on Yevon’s wrongs hardly seemed productive. They were going to prove them wrong, after all. Defeat Sin once and for all, and see how they liked it! But they’d all said it so many times that the words were starting to lose their meaning, and rather than start a fight with people he liked, who had been legitimately wronged, Bilbo left the bridge, and went in search of a private room.

He should be sleeping, Bilbo thought to himself, finding a sparsely furnished room with a bed and sitting down. They’d been on the move constantly, always dealing with some problem, and his sleep was definitely suffering. But how could he sleep when the dwarves pushed on? He knew by now that though they were certainly a hardy folk, even they needed rest, and all too often they refused to take it. Should he do the same in solidarity? Or were they just fools?

Just fools, Bilbo decided as the door slid open and Thorin walked in, momentarily taken aback.

“Is this your room?” Bilbo asked, pushing himself to his feet tiredly. “I just picked the closest room I could find.”

“Ah, no, I did the same,” Thorin admitted. It was almost comforting, the way he looked straight in Bilbo’s eyes even though they were awkward with each other. Thorin was still Thorin, still straightforward to a fault.

“I can’t seem to relax enough to fall asleep,” Bilbo heard himself say, though it wasn’t as though he had actually tried to sleep yet.

“I understand what you mean,” Thorin admitted, though he didn’t move from the door. “Much has happened, and yet we’re still standing on the edge, waiting for just one more thing to happen and push us over.”

“Well, you can’t afford to lose any more sleep over this, not when you’re the cornerstone of our operation,” Bilbo decided, though he wasn’t sure what made him say it. Was it really concern for Thorin? Or did he feel too guilty to openly express his selfishness? “Come here.”

Thorin didn’t need telling twice, crossing the room faster than Bilbo could blink. His boots were off in another blink, and then they were wrapped around each other in the slightly too small bed, Bilbo’s nose pressed into Thorin’s chest. Neither of them tried to do anything else, sudden exhaustion finally catching up with them, but that was fine. For the best, really, Bilbo decided. Every one of his senses was full of Thorin, and if he could sleep through that, he could probably deal with whatever came of fighting Sin. It certainly didn’t seem to trouble Thorin, whose deep, even breaths signaled almost immediate sleep.

At least one of them was able to sleep that night.


	30. An Extraordinary Fayth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who have played the game may have wondered for a while now who is going to play the part of the Magus Sisters. Maybe you've even guessed. For everyone else, enjoy!

“Is there really no other way?” Bilbo asked, staring up at the creature apprehensively. He tried to avoid whining, as no one else seemed nearly as troubled by the prospect, but he struggled at it. After all, standing in front of him was a small flock of chocobos.

“The valley that holds the temple is too narrow for the airship to attempt a landing,” Gandalf reminded him, climbing aboard his chocobo with practiced ease. “And the entrance from the Calm Lands is on a platform too far for us to jump and too small for the airship to maneuver to. That leaves the chocobos, and their ability to glide for a short period as the only option.”

“You can always wait in the ship,” Dwalin suggested, though the amused glint in his eyes suggested he didn’t think that was bloody likely.

“No. No! I’m coming, it just might take a bit of getting used to,” Bilbo decided, sizing up the bright yellow birds. One of them made a cheerful squawking sound and he did his best not to flinch away. Really, animals themselves weren’t the problem. He was sure he would be difficult and ornery too if someone tried to put a saddle on him as well, but maybe it was a bad idea of think of it like that. They were just too big. Yes. That was it.

“There’s enough room for two people, especially one as small as you,” Kili pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Uncle’s a good rider.”

Even putting aside Kili’s insinuations, he was probably right. Thorin did everything gracefully, if not always well. He could probably keep one of these oversized chickens in check, at least for the short distance they had to ride them.

“I don’t think so, my boy,” Dís interjected, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. “I am also a skilled rider, and I’m less likely to be distracted. These ravines aren’t something to play around in.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said once Kili slouched off. “I’m afraid I would steer myself into a ravine.” And Thorin certainly wouldn’t be the only one distracted.

“That would be a problem,” Dís agreed. “Thorin’s probably glaring daggers at me, isn’t he? That would be reward enough as far as I’m concerned.”

“No actually,” Bilbo admitted. If anything, Thorin looked amused at the sight of Dís helping him onto the chocobo.

Dís turned to look for herself before climbing aboard, patting the chocobo’s feathery neck fondly. “Shame. He is so fun to tease, you know.”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” Bilbo told her, trying not to grip the feathers too hard as the chocobo lurched forward. “The pilgrimage was a fairly serious affair until… Well, I guess it still is.”

“That was always Thorin’s problem,” Dís complained, spurring the chocobo faster. “If he was determined to die, he could at least live a little along the way. He’s capable of that, believe it or not, when he actually relaxes. Instead, where the pilgrimage was concerned, he was always so grim and serious, practically screaming ‘no fun allowed.’”

A relaxed Thorin was something Bilbo had only ever seen flashes of, brief moments where he let his guard down. The morning after he had wandered into the wrong room at the Travel Agency came to mind, though of course Thorin was in a bad mood for the rest of that day.

“I don’t think suicide missions are supposed to be fun,” Thorin observed dryly, pulling up alongside them. He was in fact a natural rider, looking as at ease on chocobo-back as on the ground, his long hair blowing in the wind in a way that made Bilbo stare for longer than was probably polite.

“Because of the danger, few people get to see what you saw,” Dís pointed out. “The last remnants of dozens of long-lost civilizations. You could at least try to enjoy the exclusivity of it.”

“Of looking upon the homes of people who are no longer remembered?” Thorin raised his eyebrows. Thankfully, this felt more playful than his usual arguing with Dís, Bilbo observed with relief. Relaxed, almost, like Dís had said.

“You are one of the few who has seen those homes, who can claim that they exist, even if the people who lived there are long gone. You remember them in a way few others can.”

Bilbo almost agreed with Thorin. Though Dís was right in theory, there was nothing especially fun about carrying around the weight of the dead, along with the living as summoners did. But then, neither of them knew about the dream of the fayth, where those forgotten people resided, if only in facsimile. 

“What do you think, Bilbo?” Thorin asked, turning to him. “Do you agree with my sister? I know you find ruins interesting.”

So he still remembered that conversation under the lake.

“Before Zanarkand, I would have agreed with Dís,” Bilbo admitted. “But after Zanarkand, I can’t find anything enjoyable in it anymore. The memories of death cling to that place, so that even after thousands of years it is still sick. And then I realized that that’s true of all of Spira, as long as Sin exists, able to wipe away whole civilizations in an eyeblink.”

“Hmm,” was all Dís said in reply, and Thorin snuck Bilbo a quick smile.

“The temple is across that gap,” Gandalf announced, pointing at an uneven section of the cliffside. It was near the entrance to the Macalania Woods, but in his earlier grief and shock over the absence of the Shire, Bilbo hadn’t even noticed it was there. 

“You haven’t said anything about this aeon,” Balin noted. Even he managed a chocobo better than Bilbo was sure he would have.

“Except that you need all of the others to get it,” Fili remembered. “Why is that?”

“This aeon is exceptionally powerful, due in no small part to being three separate aeons serving as one,” Gandalf explained. “Only a summoner who has every other aeon has any chance of controlling them, and even then the aeons can be difficult. The rest you will have to see for yourselves, I’m afraid.”

For a brief instant, Bilbo was afraid that their chocobos wouldn’t make it. Just comparing the sizes of their bodies to the sizes of their wings, flight had to be impossible. Even balancing in the air ought to be challenging for them, and with the extra weight of passengers? Not that he knew anything about how to calculate that; dwarves were the mathematicians. But he knew how it looked as the chocobos leapt, somehow gliding through the air toward the other side without wavering or even squawking in alarm. How they would leave again, he had no idea, but the chocobos all landed safely, as if soaring through the air at their size and weight made perfect sense. But then, of all the things in Spira to question, this was easily the least important. Perhaps that was why he felt comfortable fixating on it.

The ravine behind them, the chocobos surged forward between the gap in the cliff face, emerging into the courtyard of a temple. It was huge and sprawling, clearly ancient and yet untouched by time in a way that the other temples weren’t. Somehow, it had escaped numerous attacks by Sin and Sinspawn in this region, and somehow the sturdy wooden bridges that led to it had not rotted away. They barely even swayed under the weight of chocobo and dwarf, but how could that be? Even working in this region, Dís hadn’t known the temple was there.

“I’m surprised this temple isn’t in the same sort of shape as Baaj,” Balin admitted, shading his eyes from the sun as he looked up at it. “It looks as sound as the day it was built, or so I assume.”

Gandalf gave them one of his mysterious smiles. “It was not always so,” he assured them. “The fayth at Baaj takes a form that suits the summoner, the form that makes it easier for them to kill. Some say it was the fayth that brought the storm that ravaged Baaj. The fayth here at Remiem Temple is a fayth of life and renewal.”

The hair on the back of Bilbo’s neck rose, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. A fayth whose element was life? That felt wrong, somehow. The fayth were sacrifices, people who couldn’t bear to die if they could still help the living. At the same time, why did he feel so comfortable here? Why did the air feel so clean and pure? Why did this temple feel like home? It was wrong!

When they reached the entrance to the temple and dismounted from the chocobos, Bilbo trying not to look like a useless bundle of limbs, Gandalf pulled him aside. “You may want to remain outside,” he cautioned, his voice low.

Bilbo started, studying the genuine concern he saw in Gandalf’s face. “Why, Gandalf? How is this temple different from any of the others?”

“How is any temple different from any other?” Gandalf countered.

Bilbo opened his mouth to object, but then closed it again when the answer came to him. “The fayth,” he replied, the gears already turning in his mind.

“The fayth,” Gandalf repeated with a nod. “This fayth may be more than you can handle, and there is no shame in that.”

“But how-” Bilbo began, his frustration only growing, when he heard a faint sound and turned his head toward it. By now, the hymn of the fayth should have been a familiar sound, something he could just ignore. Faint as it was, this one drew his attention immediately.

“Bilbo?” Thorin stood on the steps of the temple, looking at him with concern.

Bilbo shook his head. “Right. I’m going anyway.” 

Without looking at any of the others, Bilbo dashed up the stone steps, practically shoving his way through the temple doors. There was a seal blocking the entrance, but Thorin must have followed close behind, for it quickly faded. Once inside, the fayth’s song filled his ears, and his vision blurred as he recognized the voices. He barely noticed that there was no cloister, barely noticed the shouts of the others behind him. Something was wrong, so very wrong. But he had to know for certain. Whatever Gandalf might say, it was always better to know, even if the truth was a miserable one.

The door to the chamber of the fayth slid open with barely a touch, and Bilbo practically stumbled into the room. It was the same as every other chamber of the fayth: a round room with a round stone at the center. Just like every other, the stone held an intricately carved statue, though this one had three figures inside.

As he stood there, the singing echoing almost painfully, the fayth rose out of the statues, their pale forms hovering in front of him. Even with tears obscuring his vision, he couldn’t mistake what he saw.

“Mother?” It was barely a word, more of a broken sound that tore it’s way loose from his throat. As he said it, Bilbo reached forward, knowing even as he did it that his hand would only find air. Like so many things, Spira had stolen her warmth, her body, and now her life. His aunts were behind her, just as pale and spectral as his mother, but he couldn’t bear the pitying way they watched him, keeping a respectful distance from his grief.

“Oh.” Thorin’s quiet exhalation wasn’t enough to make Bilbo turn around, though he heard the dwarf shooing everyone else out of the chamber. Later, when his tears dried, he would have to remember to thank him. Of course Thorin would understand, after what he’d been forced to do.

“My dear, dear boy,” she said, in the same tone she might have used to greet him after a long day running about Hobbiton.

“I’m not a child anymore,” he reminded her, his voice cracking.

“No, of course not,” she assured him, floating closer and wrapping her spectral limbs around his shaking form. “You were grown when I left, and now you’ve found an adventure of your own, haven’t you? But you’re still my precious child, in pain and far from home.”

“But why? How? Gandalf said that you were a summoner!” And summoners who failed didn’t become fayth. They died on the mountainside, or in the fetid waters flooding Doriath, becoming fiends. But then, was that really better?

“I was,” Belladonna confirmed. “My sisters were my guardians. One day we were in the Shire, and the next we were here, forced to find our own way. I learned about what a terrible place this world was, and suddenly our circumstances didn’t matter. I had the summoner’s gift, so I had to do something.”

“Old Took’s Three Extraordinary Daughters, on one last adventure,” Bilbo said weakly.

“We couldn’t resist,” Mirabella admitted.

“How could we not go out with a bang?” Donnamira added.

“But it didn’t go as planned,” Bilbo surmised.

“No, but I suppose that was to be expected,” Belladonna told him with a wistful smile. “When we learned the truth about our home, I knew that we weren’t going to succeed. Even the dead can bring life by fertilizing the soil, but those who never existed at all? We never had a chance of saving this world.”

“Then what chance did I have?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it, surprising himself with the bitterness of them. “You knew that you were going to die here, and you knew that I was going to be dragged here someday!”

“I wanted to give you the chance to become real,” Belladonna said, her wispy fingers trying to brush away errand strands of Bilbo’s hair. “I couldn’t even attempt to destroy Sin, knowing that it might wipe you away forever. I thought, if dreams like us could become fayth, maybe we could protect the dream, and help defeat Sin at the same time.”

“And how has that been working out for you?” Bilbo asked acidly, though he regretted it immediately. After everything he’d been through in Spira, this wasn’t what he wanted to say to his mother.

“We won’t know until you try,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But we have a stronger connection to the dream. Even if the others decide to fade, we’ll try to hold the Shire together for you.”

“But we can’t guarantee anything,” Donnamira added.

“It all depends on your summoner,” Mirabella agreed. “Sin is drawn to the Hymn, longing to be closer to the source of the dream. Find it and kill it, destroy the ring, and we’ll do what we can for you.”

“So you’ll lend Thorin your power?” Bilbo wasn’t sure when this had turned into a negotiation on Thorin’s behalf, but it was probably the least he could do. Thorin still knew nothing of proper hobbit manners, and as family, at least Bilbo’s lack could be excused by the circumstances.

“Send him in, and we’ll see,” Belladonna replied. “I have to be certain that he’s worthy of you.”

“Worthy of- Mother!” Bilbo protested, feeling the back of his neck heat up. “He’s made it this far, hasn’t he?”

“Send him in,” Belladonna repeated, looking down at her son imperiously. “I have a duty to perform.”

Being forced to fetch Thorin when just a few minutes ago he had been crying his eyes out stung, but Bilbo did it. The door had barely slid open when Thorin’s arms were wrapped around him, engulfing him in comforting warmth, and tears threatened to return. A younger version of him, maybe even a few weeks younger, would have been shocked at the casual touch, embarrassed even. He hadn’t been close enough to anyone in the Shire for years to justify such an intimate gesture as a hug. But the easy affectionate touches of the dwarves were catching, if his tendency to take Thorin’s hand when he seemed to need support was any indication. After his mother’s insubstantial touches, her pale, see-through eyes, Bilbo needed this. He needed proof that at least Thorin was real, even if he wasn’t.

“They’re ready to see you,” he mumbled into Thorin’s chest, blinking back tears.

“I’ll try to make a good impression,” Thorin replied, his serious tone suggesting that he wasn’t trying to be funny. It still made Bilbo laugh, though it was more of a derisive snort.

“I doubt they’re any different from when you met them before,” Bilbo pointed out, shrugging out of Thorin’s hold and noticing for the first time that there was no sign of anyone else around. Yet another thing he had to be grateful to Thorin for. “The fayth are basically frozen in time.”

“This is your mother and her sisters,” Thorin said, eyebrows raised. “Even if I had not met them before, I know better than to trifle with them.”

“Don’t keep them waiting, then,” Bilbo said, feigning nonchalance. His arms swung awkwardly at his sides, and he tried to remember what they normally did when he was calm. “Not that they aren’t used to it, I suppose, in such an out of the way temple.”

“You aren’t coming?” Thorin’s tone was carefully measured, though his hand floated in the air, as if he was debating bring Bilbo with him.

“Ah, no. No, I think I should stay out here. We said what we needed to say, and now it’s just-” Bilbo floundered for the right word, feeling the tears creeping up on him again.

“I understand,” Thorin assured him, and odds were good that he actually did. Then he stepped through the door into the Chamber of the Fayth, leaving Bilbo alone with the hymn. He collapsed in on himself, dropping to the ground and staring straight ahead blankly. 

From almost the moment he’d landed in Spira, Bilbo had known that this world had done something terrible to his mother. Gandalf had confirmed it, and the sphere she had left had been the last nail in her coffin. Was being a fayth worse than death? At least she could still talk to him, and might still be able to help him. But then, becoming a fayth was clearly the weapon of last resort. The path of the desperate.

Why then did the Hymn now sound like his mother saying, “Protect my son”?


	31. The Last Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely from Thorin's pov. Enjoy!

“So, you’re the summoner Gandalf chose for my boy to follow,” Belladonna observed, floating around Thorin in a slow circle. Her sisters watched from a distance, clearly trying their best to look threatening while being three and a half feet tall and transparent. Maybe hobbits were threatening in their own environment? Bilbo certainly had been on more than one occasion.

“No doubt he had his reasons,” Thorin replied evenly. At this point, he knew it was pointless to try and puzzle out Gandalf’s intentions. Rather than a Legendary Guardian, he was a legendary manipulator of information. If Gandalf didn’t want him to know something, he likely never would.

“The same reasons that lead us to Spira, perhaps,” Mirabella suggested.

“Maybe this was part of the plan all along,” Donnamira wondered.

“It would be like him to assume that hobbits were destroyed because we had some latent power that might be useful against Sin,” Belladonna agreed.

“Instead of just being yet another civilization too weak to defend against death itself,” Mirabella finished for her.

Thorin wisely held his tongue.

“But you think you can do better,” Donnamira said, her attention back on Thorin. “You think you can break the cycle.”

“I don’t know,” Thorin admitted. He could practically feel their surprise, and he couldn’t have admitted it to another fayth. But if Luthien was right, what made his attempt different had very little to do with him, and everything to do with Bilbo. In a way, he was actually more comfortable with that. He wasn’t his ancestors, mighty kings who had cast down Sin and were later reborn. There were some sacrifices he couldn’t make, and maybe that was for the best.

“Should a summoner be so uncertain? Against Sin, there is no room for hesitation,” Mirabella chided. “Especially if you dare to try something no one has ever done.”

“It is not my power alone that will defeat Sin,” Thorin replied. “Alone, a summoner is nothing. Even following the usual way, a summoner with no guardians can go no farther than Zanarkand.”

Belladonna smiled, coming to rest in front of him. At this distance, it was easy to see where Bilbo took after her. It had been obvious from the beginning, and of course the handful of hobbits he’d met had been related, but his mental picture of Belladonna had degraded with time. Now it was easy to see whose eyes Bilbo had, whose chin. Whose smile.

Why hadn’t he left Bilbo on that beach, to make his own way in this world, and never know what had become of his mother? It would have been kinder, certainly, to leave him with Elrond. Besaid was as peaceful as anywhere in Spira. Bilbo could have been happy there. But if Thorin had left Bilbo there, would he be dead by now, making the required sacrifice without question?

“I ask only one thing in exchange for our power,” Belladonna said, her ghostly eyes staring straight into his. For someone so insubstantial, she burned with purpose. “And even if you agree, we may act on our own in battle. We sisters are a team, and we know best how we work together.”

“What do you want from me?” Thorin asked, his voice echoing around the chamber. It seemed strange now to confront a fayth alone, without at least Bilbo at his side. The room felt too empty, and he felt too uncertain.

“Protect my son,” Belladonna answered firmly. “He is alone in this world, in more ways than you know. Maybe you can understand, as a king and a summoner. An island, even among your own people. Bilbo is the same, in his own way. Without protection, he may just fade away, another forgotten person in this world of death.”

“He doesn’t need my protection,” Thorin replied, the sharpness of his tone surprising him. “He has never needed it. I was just too blind to see it.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Belladonna asked, tilting her head curiously. “He was certainly never raised to fight. No hobbit was ever a natural-born warrior.”

“And yet the three of you made it farther than many summoners of other races,” Thorin pointed out. “There is more to hobbits than many see. Bilbo is not a natural fighter, but that is not the only measure of strength. He’s stronger than most of us. And when he wants to protect someone…” He hesitated. Yes. That was when Bilbo was strongest. Running into danger to protect others, even as Thorin did his best to keep their delicate little hobbit from harm. Bilbo was always trying to protect him, whether it was from fiends or from being overrun by negative feelings. Trying to protect him from himself.

Belladonna’s confusion melted into another smile. She brushed some of his hair aside with a ghostly hand, her transparent fingers leaving a cold trail behind. “I have no doubt about the strength of his heart,” she replied with a look at her sisters. “Still, he’s my son. Keep him close. The ring he carries is no ordinary trinket, as I’m sure you know by now. He may need some help getting rid of it in the end. He will need you then, Summoner Thorin. Can you protect him?”

Some time ago, his first instinct would have been to say that he couldn’t guarantee anything. On a mission this dangerous, anything could happen, and he was certainly risking his own life in the process. But now?

“It doesn’t seem strange to you, asking a summoner to protect his guardian?” Thorin asked, his mouth twitching into a small smile.

“I think you are beyond the normal conventions,” Belladonna observed. “Don’t you think Luthien would have protected Beren, had it been in her power to do so?”

“Yes.” Judging by the way she remained in that city of the dead, she still regretted not doing so. Lingering on, slowly suffocating on her grief. Most of his life had felt like that, with a few exceptions.

“So?” Belladonna prompted him. “Will you do it?”

“If he will let me,” Thorin answered dryly. “He may not.”

Belladonna’s smile grew, and she was joined by her sisters, their expressions matching. “I would not have it any other way, Summoner Thorin. He is lost right now, maybe he has been ever since Gandalf found him. Much like you when we met the first time. But don’t worry. If you need help protecting him, call us.”

“Take our power, and with it bring an end to this,” Donnamira said ritually.

“The only thing stronger than death is the will to live,” Mirabella added.

“The best way to protect Bilbo is to do everything to keep yourself alive,” Belladonna advised with a wink. Then they became light, flowing into him with a warmth that was startling after the ghostly cold. It left him light-headed and weak, and only throwing out an arm to brace himself against the wall kept Thorin from falling to the floor. They were so much more powerful than any of the others, each one of them like a small sun compared to candle flames. What was it that made them so much stronger? It was like getting his first aeon again, leaving him limp, useless, and gasping for breath. His blood was boiling with it, as if his body was rejecting so much power. How then was the final aeon supposed to feel?

“Thorin?”

Bilbo’s voice startled Thorin out of his pained musing. The hobbit was standing in the doorway to the chamber, his eyes red and raw, but otherwise looking calmer. Had he just been waiting for the fayth to fade again?

“I’m… fine,” Thorin replied, the shuddering breath he took between words belying that entirely.

“Obviously not,” Bilbo replied tartly, crossing the room without looking at the statue embedded in the floor. “This is what happens when you’re rude to the people whose help you need.”

“I wasn’t rude to them,” Thorin insisted, letting Bilbo dip his head under his arm and sling it over his shoulders. “I’ve never felt this much power before.”

“Gandalf did say that the three of them together-” Bilbo began.

“It’s not that,” Thorin interrupted. “Each one of them is far more powerful than any of the others alone. I don’t understand it.”

The back of Bilbo’s neck suddenly felt warmer, and when he looked over, Thorin saw the beginnings of a blush. He looked away before Bilbo noticed, but he allowed himself a faint smile as Bilbo helped him out of the room.

“The connection between a summoner and an aeon affects the aeon’s power, right?” Bilbo asked. “Maybe the connection is stronger because you met them while they were… alive.” He nearly choked on the word, sending a surge of warmth through Thorin. If only his limbs didn’t all feel like jelly.

“It’s possible,” Thorin allowed. “That is the principle behind the final aeon, anyway. Perhaps they even-” He stopped himself quickly, but it wasn’t quick enough.

“What?” Bilbo turned to look at him with a puzzled expression.

“Perhaps they approve of me,” he said, his eyes finding Bilbo’s. Still, the confusion remained.

“Well, of course they must, to give you their power,” Bilbo pointed out, and Thorin shook his head.

“Not like that,” he said, willing Bilbo to understand. For all that the hobbit complained of the stubbornness of dwarves, he was just as guilty when he didn’t want to admit to something. It made Thorin miss their straightforward fight on the banks of the spring in Macalania. That the fight had turned into something else entirely really had nothing to do with it.

“S-so where did everyone else go?” Bilbo asked, looking away just as abruptly as he’d changed the subject. Yes, Thorin missed their straightforward fights.

“They made camp outside the temple, and I left Balin and Gandalf to explain the situation,” Thorin replied. He was struggling to remain standing even with Bilbo’s support, and he nodded in the direction of the wall. Achingly slowly, Bilbo guided him to it, and he practically collapsed on the ground.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, sitting down beside him, close enough that they were almost touching again. “I’ll be fine again soon, but-”

“There is no shame in mourning,” Thorin assured him. “Each new day in Spira brings new mourners. It will not make you weak.”

“I should be telling you that,” Bilbo pointed out weakly. “You never took the time to mourn your father. We just kept pushing to get past the mountain before the Crusaders started planting bombs all over it.”

He was right of course. Even though he’d been forced to Send his father, in some ways he still hadn’t accepted it. How could his father really be dead, after so long without really knowing his fate? Balin and Dwalin had always refused to speak of it, so how could he suddenly be forced to accept his father becoming a fiend?

Thorin sighed. “Two summoners. Two parents. One became an Unsent, the other a fayth.”

“You’re changing the subject,” Bilbo pointed out wryly.

“There will be time to mourn when this is over,” Thorin replied. He let his head fall back, thunking against the stone wall. If he survived. At least now his father was entombed in stone, as he was meant to be. That thought would have to get him through the rest.

Bilbo laughed, a thin, brittle sound. “I think you just told me that there’s no weakness in mourning, yet you refuse to do it!”

“Fear of weakness is not the only reason I might be unwilling to mourn,” Thorin snapped, immediately regretting it. He was being invited to share in Bilbo’s grief in a private moment, and he couldn’t help but resist. He couldn’t help but force himself to be stone, for just a little longer.

“Thorin…” The plaintive note in Bilbo’s voice was hard to resist, and Thorin turned, meeting the hobbit’s worried gaze.

“This is your time to mourn,” Thorin replied, more gently, conscious that Belladonna’s singing was all around them. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What are you saying? No, don’t be ridiculous.” Bilbo was on his feet again, his hands on his hips as he used his sudden height advantage to look down on Thorin. It wasn’t an unpleasant view. “I’m always worrying about you, and at this point I wonder how anyone manages not to.”

Yes, making Bilbo angry generally did the trick.

Thorin pressed his hands against the ground, trying to force himself to stand. His arms were still jelly, so he resigned himself to having a conversation from this angle. Belladonna’s revenge, perhaps.

“I survived until Besaid without your worry,” Thorin reminded him. “Not a trivial amount of time.”

“You weren’t on a suicide mission then, at least not as far as I’ve heard,” Bilbo pointed out, jabbing a finger accusingly in his direction.

“And I’m not on one now.” Bilbo started, pulling back in surprise. “How many times must I say it before you believe it?”

“I think your sister would say that actions speak louder than words, Thorin,” Bilbo replied, lowering himself to his knees, but remaining in front of Thorin rather than beside him.

“So only when I emerge from the burning wreckage alive?” Sometimes he wondered what would happen then, if they really did manage to destroy Sin. Yevon would lose power, his people would have their mountain back, but those were obvious outcomes. What did he want for himself when Sin was gone? Was it foolish to say that with his people’s future secured, what he really wanted was another kiss from Bilbo?

He really was too old for this.

“Perhaps not even then,” Bilbo admitted. “You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble.”

Thorin snorted. “You could have stayed in Besaid,” he said, voicing his thought from earlier.

“No, I don’t think I could have,” Bilbo replied without hesitating, a half-smile on his face. “Maybe I could have been happy there. Maybe I still can be. But I would always be wondering if there was more out there, just waiting for me to find it. Like my home.”

Not for the first time, Thorin wished that Bilbo’s search for his home could have ended differently. He still wondered how Bilbo had made it to Besaid in the first place, so clearly displaced from his own time, but perhaps some mysteries didn’t have answers. The beings inside of Sin were too powerful for mortal understanding.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything. He had already offered Bilbo a home in Erebor, and he’d… not refused exactly, but Thorin wasn’t sure how to interpret his answer.

“How long does it take to get an aeon, Thorin?” Dís called from the temple entrance, the sounds of the company laughing carrying through the open door. “Or have you collapsed in a heap as Dwalin said you might?”

Thorin closed his eyes, taking a deep steadying breath. For someone who had tried for years to matchmake him into staying alive, his sister had profoundly bad timing.

“We’re over here,” Bilbo called, irritation flashing briefly over his face, so quickly that Thorin wasn’t convinced he hadn’t imagined it. “I couldn’t carry Thorin to the entrance.”

“So why didn’t you come outside and ask for help?” Dís asked, giving the pair of them an amused look as she approached. “If Thorin really is too weak to move, he’s hardly in any shape for amorous interludes.”

“That was hardly-” Bilbo began indignantly.

“I don’t need to be able to stand for that,” Thorin said at the same time, causing Bilbo to fall silent and Dís to stare at him as if she’d never met him before.

“Did you just make a joke?” she asked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Is it so surprising?” It had been years since they did anything but fight, so maybe it was. Had he really been willing to leave this life in such a shambles?

Dís turned to Bilbo. “Have you heard him make jokes before?”

“A few times, I think,” Bilbo confirmed with a nod. “But shouldn’t we be taking Thorin outside? The stone floor of the temple is hardly a good place for him to rest.”

Dís blinked. “Ah, yes, of course. Come now brother.” In one smooth movement, she pulled him to his feet, easily shouldering enough of his weight to keep him standing. Bilbo took the other side, though it was hardly necessary. How many times would he find himself in this situation, before this quest was over? With any luck, only one more time, and then only with Bilbo.


	32. A Plan

“According to the fayth in this temple, Sin is drawn to the Hymn of the Fayth,” Bilbo told the Company as they camped outside the temple. Despite their best efforts, Thorin couldn’t sit safely on a chocobo, and he utterly refused to be strapped to one, and so they would have to wait until he recovered to signal the airship and have more comfortable lodgings. “It lingers near temples, so if we want to find it, we must go to a temple.”

“Bevelle is out of the question, we would be shot on sight, whatever Saruman might have claimed before,” Balin pointed out grimly. “Zanarkand is unlikely simply because there are no living cities nearby, and Sin is also drawn to people.”

“Besaid, Kilika and Djose all have the same problems as Bevelle,” Gandalf said. As he spoke, he struggled to light his pipe, punctuating his speech with quite noises of frustration. “Though the people there might be friendlier to Thorin’s cause, they will have orders from the Yevon clergy. And, likely warrior monks sent in from Bevelle to prevent us from getting close.”

“But not Macalania?” Fili asked.

“It’s too remote to be worth the trouble,” Dwalin observed. “No one nearby except Thranduil, and even he’d have a hike to get there. That distance is nothing to Sin, though.”

“And one of my Agencies is there too,” Dís added. “Maybe it will be too obvious, but it could be a good base of operations. There’s certainly nothing closer to the temple itself.”

“Then that is where we will look,” Thorin decided. “We encountered Sin there last time, hiding under the lake.”

“But what about Thranduil?” Bilbo asked. “He could be a bigger problem than Yevon if we’re not careful. Especially after how things ended last time. Even if Saruman didn’t send warrior monks to Macalania, Thranduil might have sent guards of his own.”

“It might not be a terrible idea to talk to him,” Gandalf suggested, raising his eyebrows when Thorin’s expression turned thunderous. “Whatever reason led him to lie to Yevon and have us arrested, I have a difficult time believing it was motivated purely by malice. As fellow summoners, perhaps some understanding can be reached. It would be easier, certainly, if we could go to the temple and know that he wasn’t planning on calling the warrior monks.”

“We could always tell him what happens when you get to Zanarkand,” Kili pointed out. “Wasn’t his son his only guardian?”

“I get the feeling that he already knows,” Bilbo admitted. “Or at least knows something that maybe he wasn’t saying. We only saw him at one temple, and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry, despite the attack on Kilika.”

“Elves are rarely hurried,” Thorin muttered.

“Summoner Morwen might be a helpful ally in that conversation,” Balin pointed out with a sharp look at Thorin. “Her guardians are her daughters, and she has always been more open to reason. If she knew the truth, I suspect she would not continue her pilgrimage, and that perspective could be useful with Thranduil.”

“Or her army,” Dís suggested. “Even Thranduil can’t ignore the threat of war from a near neighbor. Though I doubt she would go that far. There’s little point in defeating Sin if a war is incited in the process.”

“She was in Bevelle the last time we saw her,” Dwalin reminded them gruffly. “Working for Yevon.”

Bilbo blinked. “Was that really only a few days ago? Less than a week ago, I think. She might even be in the area.”

She might have moved on already. It was becoming harder and harder to keep track of time, especially now that they had the airship. Day and night meant far less when you could travel through either without having to walk or worry about fiends.

“And wondering how to climb the mountain after that landslide,” Fili surmised, excitement growing in his eyes.

“She’ll need our help,” Kili added. “The airship is the only way to Zanarkand, at least for now.”

“Then I believe the matter is settled, at least until we’ve actually spoken to her,” Gandalf concluded with a look at Thorin for confirmation.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “Let us find Summoner Morwen.”

* * *

 

With everything that had happened at the temple, Bilbo had very conveniently forgotten that the only way back to the Calm Lands was to ride the chocobos again. It felt almost trivial to worry about riding the silly yellow birds in light of what he’d learned, but learning something devastating didn’t make riding them any safer or more comfortable. If anything, it just made him more distracted, and likelier to fall to his death.

“They’re not going to eat you,” Dís told him, patting him a little too hard on the back. “They only eat green things, weeds and other plants.”

Now that she mentioned a fear of being eaten, those large beaks did seem sharp and threatening. How had he missed that before? Even if they were meant for eating plant life, they could easily take fingers off. Or limbs.

Bilbo wanted to laugh at himself. Here they were, planning to go after the most dangerous fiend in all of Spira, and he still found riding a fairly tame animal threatening. Well, no one was going to hear him complain this time. He just had to get used to the beasts.

Bribery, he had always found, was remarkably effective with animals and children, both groups he struggled to interact with. As the dwarves loaded up their meager supplies, Bilbo hunted around the temple greenery, searching for a morsel that a giant bird might find attractive. They had been grazing in the area, but there were some places that a giant beak couldn’t reach, and nimble hobbit fingers could. That was where he found his prize.

The chocobos noticed immediately, despite what he assumed was a limited sense of smell. The crest of feathers on top of their heads rose, and they started forward cautiously, despite the protests of the dwarves trying to load supplies onto their backs. They didn’t charge him, but approached steadily, their large eyes fixed on the leafy greens in his hands.

Bilbo extended his hand toward the nearest chocobo, one hand empty, and the other hand full of greens. The beastie lowered it’s head, accepting both the offered greens and the hesitant stroking of it’s feathery head.

“There now, you’re not so scary are you?” Bilbo said in what he hoped wasn’t a threatening tone. “Can’t be, not if you like food as much as I do.”

The chocobo made an encouraging sound, though it attempted to block the others from approaching, perhaps in the hope of monopolizing the greens.

“I’m afraid you have to share, there’s a good bird,” Bilbo said, gently nudging the beak aside. Rather than snapping at him with that sharp beak, the bird went docilely, and Bilbo was markedly less afraid as he fed the others. Why, these huge birds were practically domesticated!

“Feeling up to riding one on your own?” Dís nudged him in the side. “Now that you’re done distracting them?”

“They should heed you, now that you’re not afraid of them,” Dwalin agreed, though his grin suggested he would enjoy watching Bilbo struggle.

Ordinarily, Bilbo still would have refused. Just because he knew they weren’t hobbit-eating monster birds didn’t mean that he could handle controlling one. But his heart was still raw from the revelations of the temple, and he needed a distraction. It would be hard to think of anything other than getting the chocobo to go in a straight line if he decided to ride one alone.

“Why not?”

He was still clumsy and awkward climbing onto the chocobo, determination not having the power to make him a competent rider in less than a day, but the bird didn’t immediately bolt, so he took that as a good sign. The dwarves were all doing their best to conceal grins, which was not a good sign. Still, when they all started forward in single file, the chocobo moved to follow without prompting, leaving Bilbo without much to do. At least it was smart enough to avoid plunging off the wooden bridges, or smacking into the cliff sides.

When they emerged from the gap in the cliff face, onto the ledge that the chocobos had been forced to glide to, Bilbo’s heart nearly stopped as the bird gave a cheerful squawk and leapt off the ledge, gliding down to the plain below.

“Follow us to the Agency!” Thorin ordered from the front of the pack. “The airship will meet us there.” Then he sped off, his chocobo surging toward the agency and leaving the others to follow in his wake.

“Right,” Bilbo muttered, wondering how to make the chocobo go faster. Was it the same as a pony?

Cautiously, he tapped his heels against the bird’s sides, and the chocobo lurched forward dangerously. Where in the ravine it had followed the others, here it zigged and zagged, apparently glad to be back on the wide open plains. Bilbo tried to keep it somewhat on track with tugs of the reins, but the chocobo had it’s own ideas. They arrived last, and Bilbo was ready for a nap.

In the two days since they had last been there, the Crusaders had set up a more organized camp around the Agency. The severely wounded were housed inside, while those with less serious injuries lived in tents outside. Surrounding them, the few remaining able-bodied Crusaders protected the camp from approaching fiends. By the time Bilbo arrived, Thorin had already been pressed into service helping with the wounded again and his nephews and cousins had been dragged off to assist with guard duty. Where Gandalf was, no one really knew, though Bilbo had last seen him muttering and walking the perimeter, so maybe some magic was at work. Meanwhile, Dís surveyed the property and muttered about soldiers just moving in wherever they liked.

“I wouldn’t turn away the injured, but there’s no reason for them to make my place of business into a command center without asking me first,” she told Bilbo when he noticed her irritation. “Last I checked, the Crusaders were not one of the arms of Yevon with the right to seize property from honest business women.”

Bilbo wisely dropped the subject, though he hinted to Captain Bard that speaking with the proprietress might not be a bad idea.

“Why don’t I get some food started?” Bilbo suggested as he left Dís to the diplomatic hands of the Captain. “Things seem stretched thin enough here.” They both urged him not to go to too much trouble, but it was hardly that. He was hungry, and they were stuck again until Thorin could extricate himself, so he might as well make himself useful. Two days thankfully had not been enough for the Crusaders to empty the Agency pantry, so at least he had most of the basics, and a handful of green things that had escaped the fire.

Lunch was stew, again, because there was nothing so easy to make with limited ingredients for a massive group of people, but with a few fresh herbs and meat provided by one of the guarding Crusaders (from what animal, he dared not guess), it was edible. More importantly, it was aromatic, somehow drawing Thorin outside, away from his charges long enough to eat. That alone was something to be proud of, considering how little care Thorin took of himself.

“Summoner Morwen is inside,” Thorin told him in passing, accepting the bowl of stew. “She won’t leave until she is sure that the Crusaders are well, but she is with us.”

“You didn’t tell her the truth in front of a bunch of dying men, did you?” The secret of the final aeon was one that most of Spira probably didn’t need to know, especially not now that they were going to do away with it forever.

“When she saw me, she took me aside,” Thorin assured him. “Captain Bard apparently told her.”

“And tried to recruit her into the Crusaders?” After their last failed endeavor, they could certainly use the help.

“She didn’t say,” Thorin admitted.

“Well, take a bowl for her too,” Bilbo decided, handing Thorin another bowl of stew. “You both need your strength.”

Thorin accepted the bowl with a nod and turned to go, but Bilbo threw out a hand to stop him.

“Wait. How are you feeling? You were ready to drop yesterday, and today hasn’t been much easier,” Bilbo pointed out, filling bowls for the waiting Crusaders rapidly.

“I’m fine,” Thorin assured him. “I know my limits.”

Bilbo felt his eyebrows creeping up incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Thorin replied, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “It never takes more than a night of sleep to recover from gaining the power of a fayth. This time was no different, though I don’t blame you for thinking it might be.”

There were no bags under Thorin’s eyes and his hands holding the bowls were steady, so Bilbo decided to believe him. On a preliminary basis, anyway. Thorin could still wear himself out healing Crusaders.

“Just be careful,” he said. “I don’t want to have to carry you out of there again.”

Thorin smirked. “I didn’t mind.”

Bilbo finished his rapid-fire serving, planting his hands on his hips as he stepped away from the cauldron of stew. “I’m sure you didn’t. I think I heard an injured man calling, maybe you should take care of that?” His eyebrows were in danger of vanishing under his hair.

Thorin left, going back into the Agency, but not without a parting grin at Bilbo. That gave him all kinds of mixed feelings. He wanted Thorin to be happy, cheerful even. There had been so little of that on the pilgrimage, and it felt like proof that the dwarf summoner was finally valuing his own life. But there were no guarantees about what would happen inside Sin, as his mother had reminded him, and the ring throbbed in his pocket, as if echoing that thought.

“I would be careful with that ring, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, nearly surprising Bilbo into dropping it.

“I’m being careful,” Bilbo replied irritably. “I’m not going to lose it before we get to Sin, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not just that,” Gandalf admitted, drawing him away from the cheerful Crusaders eating their lunch. “Anything with the power to defeat Sin is no mere trinket, and it may be affecting you.”

Bilbo’s first instinct was to protest that vehemently. Whatever the dead might say, it was still just a ring, wasn’t it? But then he remember what Isildur had said, his eyes still drawn to the ring even without a body to hold it with. His luck had turned that day, he’d said, when he ‘found the ring inside Sin.’

“I’ve wondered about this for a while, but did Isildur really just find this lying around?” Even if the beings that comprised Yevon were locked in constant combat, they wouldn’t leave something that could destroy them lying around, would they?

“I was not there, but I doubt it,” Gandalf admitted, seating himself heavily on the scorched ground and pulling out his pipe. “I had heard rumors of this ring, though I did not know if they were true. Mairon, the dark part of Yevon, made this ring himself, pouring much of his power into it. If, somehow, during Elendil and Gil Galad’s battle against Sin, Isildur took this ring from Mairon, it would explain why Sin lacks much of its former strength. The course of the battle shifted that day, though not enough.”

“We can’t make a mistake then, can we?” Bilbo clutched the ring as he realized it.

“No,” Gandalf agreed. “We cannot. If Mairon senses the ring and takes it from you before we have the chance to destroy it, Sin’s power will grow far beyond what the average summoner can handle. This time, Melian may lose. Their battle has gone on for far too long.”

“It still doesn’t make sense to me,” Bilbo admitted. “I found this ring by chance, in a cave that is now buried under tons of rock, and a bunch of dead people think it’s our best chance to destroy Sin? It sounds ridiculous, no matter how you say it.” He left out the part about being the child of a dream trapped in the real world, but Gandalf gave him a knowing look. He hadn’t missed that part.

“The Valar did not abandon this world when Yevon was born, corrupting the sacred art of summoning,” Gandalf told him, patting Bilbo lightly on the shoulder. “They did not abandon it when Doriath fell, or Numenor, or the Shire, or any number of kingdoms whose names have been lost to history. They merely entrusted the task of protecting Spira to others. Some might say that you came to Spira because you were meant to.”

“Others might say I came to Spira because you showed up at my home and brought Sin with you,” Bilbo pointed out dryly.

“They would not be wrong, but might there not have been a deeper reason? My intuition told me you would have some part to play in events to come, and was I wrong? The child of a dream, the child of a fayth, free of the conceits that trouble Spira’s residents. Spira needed you,” Gandalf told him. “Though perhaps it is enough to know that Thorin needed you. He would be dead right now, if not for you.”

Bilbo’s heart throbbed painfully. “You’re sure of that?”

“Quite sure,” Gandalf said with a nod. “Do not be so quick to dismiss your purpose here as something that doesn’t make sense. The deaths of thousands make no sense. Your being here is quite simple to explain by comparison.”

Gandalf left, but Bilbo sat there a while longer, the comings and goings of the Crusaders little more than a buzzing in his ears. Why, oh why, was a simple explanation such a comforting thought?


	33. The Ace

Bilbo had not expected to be greeted in Guadosalam with cheerful smiles and waves, but their reception was much colder than he’d anticipated. There were no people in the streets. Not one. Their doors were all locked and barred, including the inn and item store; the Farplane was completely unguarded. He had no idea how they had known they were coming, but Thranduil’s people had been prepared. 

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Balin said, voicing Bilbo’s silent thought. “It doesn’t look like he wants to talk.”

“He might not even be here,” Morwen pointed out, raising a thin eyebrow. Her daughters drew closer to her, their hands hovering over the hilts of their swords. “If we could get into one of the houses, we could at least confirm if the town is abandoned.”

“Why would they abandon the town?” To Bilbo especially, it made no sense. They had homes here. Why just leave them? Guadosalam was far enough from the temple the elves protected that Sin probably wasn’t much of an issue for them, since it seemed to stick close to coasts and temples.

“Fear of retribution, perhaps?” Gandalf suggested. “The elves of Mirkwood may fear what the dwarves will do after that attempt on Thorin’s life. And perhaps not unjustifiably, if he saw the airship in action during the attack on Bevelle.”

Thorin’s expression hardened. “Let’s go to the manse. I want to know for certain if he’s fled.”

There were no guards outside of the manse, but unlike the other doors, this one opened easily. The same silence permeated the manse as the rest of the town, and though they split up to search the building, Bilbo feeling a little guilty about poking around Thranduil’s things, they found no sign of anyone. However, there was no dust or built-up grime. Their removal had been recent.

They did find a hidden door, opened by pressing an easily missed switch on the wall, and the door concealed a network of underground passages. For a moment, Bilbo had been elated, assuming they had found Thranduil’s underground bunker. Then Fili had returned from searching the tunnels, and reported that while there were fiends and traps aplenty, there was no way out except the way they had come in, and no sign of any elves.

“What now?” Kili asked when they gathered outside the manse.

“If Thranduil thought his people were in danger of retribution, he would have taken them deep into Macalania woods,” Thorin said, his arms crossed over his chest. “It is what he has done before.”

“We have no chance of finding them there,” Dís pointed out. “No one knows the woods better than them. Maybe we should just push on for the temple, and leave the elves to wherever they’re hiding.”

“They might have moved into the temple,” Morwen disagreed. “Even if they haven’t, you are asking to be ambushed on the ice if you can’t account for the location of Thranduil’s elves. No, you must speak to Thranduil himself, and at least come to some sort of agreement.”

“And how do think we should find him?” Dwalin asked, his expression one of flat displeasure. “Just wander into the woods and wait for him to shoot us?”

“What you need is a guide, someone who knows the woods just as well, and who knows where they will go,” Morwen argued. “A short detour to Luca will bring us to the blitzball stadium, where their team plays. One of them might be willing to help, at least if I’m the one asking.”

Just how many more people were they going to need to collect before they could finish this? The airship was going to start flying low with the weight of everyone they needed to defeat Sin. But maybe that was just how it should be. Sin was a problem for all of Spira, and for too long, Spira’s people had been content to pile that responsibility onto just the summoners. Maybe it was time for the rest of Spira to start taking some responsibility.

It was an irritable group of dwarves that piled back onto the airship, though Bilbo noted that Kili alone seemed cheerful.

“He’s excited that he might get to see Tauriel, the ace of Mirkwood’s blitzball team,” Fili told Bilbo quietly, glancing at his uncle, who was hovering unsettlingly near the front of the bridge. “Don’t tell Thorin.”

“If we do meet her, I don’t see how he wouldn’t notice,” Bilbo admitted, watching the way Kili was nearly bouncing with excitement. “I just hope Kili doesn’t scare her off. Wasn’t she one of Thranduil’s guardians?”

“That’s what the rumors say,” Fili confirmed. “But they had some kind of falling out. It might make her willing to help us.”

“Or completely unwilling to go back,” Bilbo muttered, watching Luca already coming into view in the airship windows. Had it really taken them days and days to make that walk before?

“Just leave the talking to me,” Morwen said as they landed on the outskirts of the city. “We don’t want any misunderstandings, and they are only permitted to play here because of my family. They owe me at least a little help.”

“Should we stay on the airship?” Bilbo asked, shooting another look at the bouncing Kili. “If there are warrior monks or priests around, we don’t want any trouble.”

“They all left with Maester Saruman,” Morwen assured him. “There’s no temple here, and so their authority is tenuous. In hindsight, perhaps that was the real reason for Maester Saruman’s visit and celebratory tournament: to remind us who is in charge of this world.”

“I would not put it past him,” Gandalf agreed. “I would also not assume that he is leaving us unwatched. If our plan is successful, it will destabilize the world, and invalidate many of Yevon’s teachings. Though it would save many lives, he may try to stop us wherever we can, even here.”

Morwen’s expression hardened, and Bilbo nearly stepped back on instinct. He remembered his first impression of her: that this was not a person you should even cross. A queen with a will of steel, who had obeyed Yevon only because at the time, she had thought it right. Judging by the looks that flashed across the dwarves’ faces, they were having similar thoughts.

“I am not afraid of the graspings of old men, desperate to retain their grip on power,” she said flatly, marching into the city with her daughters at her heels.

It was strange being back in Luca after so much had happened. The last time they had been there, Thorin had still been a new summoner, with only two aeons under his belt. Bilbo had still known next to nothing about Spira, or his place in it, and Gandalf had only just appeared to make things more confusing. At the time, he hadn’t really known how extraordinary Luca really was, a large city protected by the Crusaders because the people of Spira needed at least one pastime, and that was blitzball. He might still not see the appeal of the game, but he had seen more of the world, and now he knew. Spira was a world of death, and here at least was something that allowed people to forget that, at least for a little while.

What surprised Bilbo is that Thorin went almost entirely unnoticed. The last time, he had been stopped constantly by people wanting their children blessed, or to wish him well on his pilgrimage, thanking him for making such a sacrifice. He had borne it all patiently, without appearing to let it inflate his head. Bilbo now understood why: they were all thanking him for being willing to die.

This time, maybe it was the near-execution, or maybe it was just Summoner Morwen’s greater importance to these people, but they barely saw him. No one shouted that he was a traitor, or made any threatening moves, but no one performed the Prayer, either. Bilbo remembered feeling small for the first time in Luca, and he wondered if it had the same effect on Thorin.

“How easily they forget,” Dwalin muttered, Balin nodding in silent agreement.

“Summoner Morwen is their queen,” Thorin said, his tone surprisingly even. “Her sacrifice means more to them. As it should.”

“If you are successful, they will thank you for saving me,” Morwen told Thorin once the crowd thinned. “Still, I hope their attitude doesn’t bother you. Many of them thought they would never see me again. I should be in Zanarkand right now, addressing Lady Luthien and making a choice no mother should have to.”

“I prefer being ignored to being arrested,” Thorin replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Bilbo allowed himself a sigh of relief. Thorin really wasn’t offended. Rather, he understood, one monarch to another. But then, of course he would. He had always seemed a little uncomfortable being thanked so profusely.

“I am sorry for the part I played in that,” Morwen admitted, the blitzball stadium getting closer and closer. “Rogue summoners are a danger to all with the power they carry, but really I just wanted to test myself. It was disheartening to be found wanting.”

Thorin said nothing to this confession, though he nodded in acknowledgement. What could he say? Of everyone involved with their nightmare in Bevelle, Morwen was the least to blame. She had gotten in their way, but here she was, helping them. In Bilbo’s mind, when she was so clearly contrite, there was nothing to forgive. Maybe Thorin felt the same.

Bilbo caught a flash of red hair to his left, and his head snapped around to follow the movement. 

“Tauriel!” Kili’s cry had the same effect on the rest of the dwarves, though their heads snapped around to look at him. “We just passed her. She can help us, right?”

“We’ll see about that, I imagine,” Morwen observed, giving both of her daughters a pat on the back. They darted forward after the red-headed elf, fast enough that Bilbo was glad that they hadn’t been forced to fight the girls. They were likely far more dangerous than they looked.

Morwen’s daughters soon returned, each of them holding one of Tauriel’s hands and pulling the bemused elf behind them. Kili was practically twitching with excitement at being in close proximity to the elf, but he wisely stayed behind his uncle.

“I’m sorry for suddenly grabbing you out of the blue,” Morwen began, recalling her daughters to her side. “But time is of the essence and we hope that you can help us with something.”

“What has happened?” Tauriel asked, her sharp eyes taking in the situation rapidly. 

“We need to speak to Summoner Thranduil, but he has taken his people and fled into Macalania Woods,” Morwen said quickly. “We need a guide who can get us to him without being shot full of arrows.”

Some emotion flickered across Tauriel’s face, but it was gone before Bilbo could make anything of it. “He will not want to see me,” she replied, looking away from Morwen for a moment. “I am not the guide you want.”

“What of your teammates?” Morwen urged. “It doesn’t matter who it is, we just need safe passage to your king.”

Tauriel shook her head. “If he has gone to ground, none of the others will help you. They will think you’re the enemy he hides from. I would like to help you, but I think my help would only make things more difficult for you.”

“Why?” Kili asked, earning sharp looks from the rest of the dwarves. Morwen’s gaze was positively murderous. “You were his guardian once, weren’t you? Why wouldn’t he listen to you?”

Dís opened her mouth to scold him, but surprisingly it was Thorin who got there first. “You ask too much,” he said sharply. “The bond between summoner and guardian is sacred, as you well know. No one has the right to question the cause of that bond being broken.”

Kili seemed to wilt under the weight of his uncle’s disapproval, and Tauriel hesitated, her eyes hovering on the young dwarf.

“It was a misunderstanding,” she said, giving Kili an apologetic look. “But a large enough one that I am not welcome back.”

“And you don’t want the chance to try and clear it up?” Dís asked, with another sharp look at her younger son, who had quickly bounced back when Tauriel tried to answer his question. “Thranduil’s a summoner, and whether he succeeds or fails, do you want him to die thinking poorly of you? Of course, we’re trying to save his life, whether he wants to accept our help or not.”

Tauriel seemed to perk up, another flash of emotion flitting across her face. “You’re trying to save him?”

“And every other summoner,” Morwen added with a grateful nod at Dís. “There is more to this story, and if you agree to help us find your king, we would be glad to tell you all of it.”

Tauriel quickly glanced at all of their faces, then nodded. “I will show you where to find them,” she agreed. “I don’t know what will happen after that, but if you want to save the summoners, I am with you.”

“Good,” Morwen replied, allowing a hint of a smile to cross her face. “Hurry and let your teammates know, and then join us at the entrance to the Mi’ihen Highroad. There is a dwarven airship waiting there.”

Bilbo expected the elf to react negatively to that statement, judging by the pointed glares that people had given them during landing, at least until their queen had been the one to step out. But Tauriel merely raised her delicate eyebrows, nodded, and hurried off to the locker rooms. Kili nearly ran after her, but Fili caught him by the back of his coat and held him back. Thorin and Dís didn’t seem to notice.

“I expected you to intervene at some point,” Thorin observed, surprising Bilbo with his nearness as they walked back to the airship.

“Really? Why? They said just about everything that needed to be said, I think,” Bilbo replied, feeling the back of his neck warm.

“Until recently, it was you and Gandalf who handled ‘matters requiring diplomacy,’” Thorin said with a quiet chuckle. “Yet both of you kept silent.”

“Well, in a party of blunt, ill-mannered dwarves, we were the least likely to give offense,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a flat look. “That’s not true anymore, not at the rate we keep picking up new people. A fringe benefit, I suppose.”

“You don’t think calling us blunt or ill-mannered gives any offense?” That all-too-familiar amusement was back in Thorin’s eyes, and Bilbo noticed that they were walking well behind the rest of the group. Had the others sped up to give them privacy, or perhaps to avoid them? He could understand Fili and Kili wanting nothing to do with that look Thorin was giving him.

“I hadn’t realized that dwarves were so thin-skinned,” Bilbo said. “Though I can believe that the lot of you lack self-awareness, as well as manners.”

“Thin-skinned is a far graver insult than the other two,” Thorin told him, his expression suddenly grave, though still with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“I can’t tell if you’re serious or not,” Bilbo admitted. “Maybe this is why your sister thinks you don’t make jokes. It can be rather difficult to tell.”

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a shout from Dori, who was leaning out of the bottom of the airship. “I don’t want to hurry anyone, but I thought we had a rather tight timetable?”

They jogged to catch up with the rest of the group, and the look Thorin gave him at the entrance to the ship promised ‘later.’ But what, and when? When Sin was defeated, they would be able to make jokes at each other’s expense, and forget everyone else around them? Maybe. If they were very lucky, and everything went exactly according to plan.

Then again, when had anything in Spira ever gone exactly as planned, especially where Sin was concerned? No one had ever planned on their final aeon being absorbed by it, giving rise to a new Sin after it had time to incubate. No one had ever planned on dying during those rash Crusader missions, certainly Bard had never planned on loading his wife’s aeon form into a cannon. But then, that had worked, hadn’t it? At great cost, and against the wrong target, but it had worked. So maybe there was a little room for error in their plan. One small mistake wouldn’t necessarily doom them. Probably.

“Can you land this ship safely in the Thunder Plains?” Tauriel’s voice cut through Bilbo’s thoughts. Apparently she had arrived, and was itching to be off.

“Haven’t tried,” Bofur translated for Bifur. “Those towers are in bad enough shape that we’ll definitely get hit, but maybe that’s fine.”

Tauriel raised her eyebrows. “‘Maybe that’s fine?’”

“Well, we still don’t know what alloy the ship is made of, but it survived being trapped in ice for a few thousand years,” Bofur explained, waving to Bifur to take off. “It can probably handle a few lightning strikes.”

“And if it can’t?” Balin looked as unimpressed as Tauriel.

“Then it’s been a pleasure knowing you gents and ladies,” Bofur announced, the ship lurching into the air.

Thorin turned to Gandalf, his expression as pleading as he was capable of, but he merely shrugged.

“What a bit of cruel irony it would be if it was lightning that killed us all instead of Sin,” Dís muttered with a dark look at their engineers, and Bilbo privately agreed.


	34. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally, finally getting near the end. I'm working on chapter 36 right now, and there will probably only be one or two chapters after that. No promises, but I'm hoping to start putting out chapters faster to wrap this up.

For Bilbo, Macalania Woods had always been a place of alien beauty, with dangers lurking around every corner. Now that they could handle the fiends without any trouble, he had expected to feel safer, but it wasn’t to be. Especially after nearly crash landing in the Thunder Plains after a particularly nasty lightning strike, with promises that the airship would be fixed by the next time they needed it. Probably. No, safety just wasn’t happening today.

“Do not speak unless you have to, and make no more noise than necessary,” Tauriel instructed as they entered the woods. “The longer we can go unnoticed, the less likely we are to be shot.”

“But we’re looking for your people,” Bilbo pointed out. “They’re going to know we’re here eventually.”

“And if we haven’t started a ruckus in the woods, they will be more willing to let us near Summoner Thranduil,” Tauriel explained. “This place is sacred to us, a wood that shines with it’s own inner light. It exists only because of the influence of the fayth at the temple, and so you were right to think that you must speak to us first. Without permission, they will try to protect the temple, especially now that they have fled the city.” 

The elf-maid put a finger to her lips for silence, and set off deeper into the woods. Kili tried to follow close behind her, but without permission to speak he couldn’t be too much of a nuisance. At least Bilbo hoped so.

It wasn’t long before he was convinced they were lost. There were many clear paths through Macalania, and they had taken one last time, though Gandalf had eventually dragged them onto a less used one. Tauriel took them off the path almost immediately, forcing them to twist and turn into awkward positions to avoid being cut or stabbed by the sharp trees. They traveled at a snails pace, though at least the fiends kept their distance. Did they sense that they could only lose? Or did they perhaps have a habitual fear of the elves? Maybe they had been elves themselves once, and retained some memory of that life.

When Tauriel finally called a halt in a place where the path widened, most of the company was covered in tiny cuts from the crystalline trees, and all of them had tiny shards in their hair and beards. Bilbo couldn’t decide if it was comical or strangely beautiful, the way the half-light of the forest reflected off of them. But then, those same shards had been tearing at the thick soles of his feet all day, so his appreciation for their beauty was lessened somewhat.

They had not been given permission to speak, so they sat in tired silence, chewing on dry rations. Even if Tauriel had been willing to risk a fire, which Bilbo guessed she would not be, he remembered the trouble they’d had last time trying to find wood that would light. In many ways, it was a forest that protected itself from people looking to use it as fuel. A gift from Shiva, who hadn’t been able to protect anything while alive.

Silently, Thorin placed a hand on one of Bilbo’s feet, and he could feel the familiar rush of magic flowing through him as the cuts closed seemingly of their own accord. Had he been allowed to speak, Bilbo might have protested the necessity, as they were all cut to pieces in their own ways, but he did need his feet intact if they were going to be tromping about for much longer.

Unconsciously, feeling warm from the flow of magic, Bilbo reached forward and brushed some of the crystalline shards out of Thorin’s thick hair. The dwarf summoner was practiced at healing small wounds by now, so though he stiffened, there was no change in the flow of magic. 

Would a day ever come where such a casual touch would be normal? The thought filled Bilbo with an unfamiliar yearning, even as he tried not to get his hopes up. Everything from the moment he had been dragged from the Shire had been more than any Baggins deserved, considering that none of them had ever been real. But was it wrong to hope that more might be possible? That there might really be a way for him to be real, or at least survive the disappearance of most of the fayth?

Thorin’s hand withdrew, Bilbo’s feet whole and hale again, Tauriel signalled that they should be off, and the moment was gone.

The path continued to widen, until they could walk two abreast. Kili tried to seize the opportunity to walk at Tauriel’s side, but she saw his bow and pointed to the back of the company. He went, eager to be useful, but Bilbo very much doubted he would be, staring longingly at the elf as he was. How had Thorin and Dís not noticed? At least Morwen, who had taken Kili’s vacated spot, wouldn’t trouble the elf-maid.

Bilbo glanced back at the siblings, who had unconsciously fallen in together while Bilbo stuck close to Gandalf. Judging by the smirk on Dís’ face, she had noticed, but her son being foolish apparently didn’t bother her. Perhaps she was just used to it. Thorin on the other hand met his eyes immediately, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if he needed something. Bilbo shook his head quickly and turned back around. Well, if Thorin really hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

It wasn’t long before Tauriel signalled for another halt, this time in front of the entrance to a clearing. Turning to face the company, she spoke in hushed tones. “Once we step into that clearing, we will be in their sights. I do not think they will shoot, as they ignored our passage through the woods, but make no sudden movements.”

Tauriel waited until they had all nodded their agreement before turning back to the clearing. She strode out confidently, but Bilbo could practically sense her tension as they followed. Her nerves were strung as tight as her bowstring, even if her face showed no sign of it.

Once they had all entered the clearing, Bilbo noticed that he heard no birds or other animals, and then arrows were pointed in their faces, the wood elves materializing seemingly out of nowhere. But no one fired, and that was something to be grateful for, even if their fingers were clearly itching on the bowstrings.

“Tauriel,” one of the elves said before addressing her in their language. With a start, Bilbo recognized Legolas, Thranduil’s son and guardian. Their pilgrimage really had stalled.

“They say that they have a plan that will save all of the summoners, and for that they need to go to the temple,” Tauriel said, suddenly switching languages so that they could all understand. “I do not know the details, but surely your father owes them at least his ear.”

Legolas turned to look at them sharply, his gaze settling on Thorin. “Is this true? You don’t want revenge against my father?”

Thorin snorted. “If I did, a summoners battle would be more appropriate than a declaration of war, or an assassination attempt. But we are here on business, not pleasure.”

And Thorin could not lose such a battle. Not after seeking out every aeon Spira had to offer, while Thranduil hid in the forest. As summoners, they were leagues apart now, even if they had been close in the beginning.

Legolas said something to Tauriel again in their language, and she simply nodded.

“Very well,” Legolas said at last. “I will take you to my father. But you will be carefully watched, and we must take your weapons until the audience is over.”

That was a command the dwarves could not submit to without glares and purposefully forgetting to mention a few weapons, leaving it to the elves to find them. However, Summoner Morwen’s daughters were just as irked at the order, and Bilbo saw death in their eyes as they handed over their swords. Somehow, Gandalf convinced the elves to let him hold onto his staff, so at least they had a backup plan if things went wrong. Though that backup plan could be removed forever with a Sending, and they were going to a meeting with three summoners.

Once all of their weapons had been confiscated, they followed Legolas through another series of narrow, twisting paths. The elves navigated them without a scratch, without even disturbing the delicate crystalline branches, but Dwalin, for example, was going to have some new scars before this was over. Not that he would mind, most likely.

“Enter one at a time,” Legolas ordered, stopping in front of the entrance to another clearing. “I will go first, then the summoners, and the guardians after. Tauriel-”

“I will wait here,” Tauriel interrupted. “Your father will not want to see me, and I want this meeting to go well.”

Bilbo half expected them to start arguing in their native language again, but Legolas simply nodded, his expression tight with displeasure, and walked into the clearing. Morwen and Thorin followed, and then there was a tussle between the guardians for the honor of being the first to follow them.

Dís won, simply by pushing past the scuffle. And perhaps a bit of magic was involved as well, Bilbo observed wryly as he trailed after her, stepping carefully over flailing limbs.

Thranduil was waiting in the clearing, somehow managing to look both more regal and more threatening than he had in his manse in Guadosalam. Perhaps it was the way the light of the crystalline trees shone in his eyes, giving them an almost fey glow. This was his home environment, far more so than the dusty town of Guadosalam, though what that meant for this conversation, Bilbo couldn’t say. Was he more or less likely to kill them if he felt comfortable?

“Well. This is a surprise.” 

It felt like the understatement of the century, and Bilbo’s heart clenched as the dwarves bristled. He couldn’t make this easy, could he?

“Tauriel brought them here,” Legolas told his father. “They say they have a way to save all of the summoners, and they wanted to talk to you.”

“And you believed them?” Thranduil cast his gaze over the group with clear skepticism. “Summoner Morwen, you support Thorin Oakenshield in this venture?”

“I do,” Morwen confirmed. “In the past, I might have thought another path to defeating Sin was a fool’s venture. But learning exactly what sacrifice summoners and guardians are expected to make made me want to believe in another way.”

“To defeat death itself, death is a reasonable price, I would think,” Thranduil observed, but he hadn’t summoned his guards, so at least he was willing to listen. “How can anyone become a summoner and be unwilling to make that sacrifice?”

“Do you include the death of your son in that estimation?” Morwen demanded. “The final aeon must be remade every time, with the life of a guardian. I could not do that to my daughters. I would never have let them be my guardians had I known that I would have to make a choice that no parent should have to in the end. It’s wrong, and why no one has stopped to question it before is a crime.”

Thranduil’s gaze shifted abruptly to Thorin, though when he spoke his tone was carefully measured. “Is this true?”

“We heard it from Lady Luthien herself,” Thorin confirmed. “But she also told us that there might be another way.” A generous description of that conversation, Bilbo thought, but without her, they never would have known that there was more to the ring than immediately appeared.

The elf summoner looked suddenly thoughtful, though Legolas had frozen in place. It wasn’t every day that your father was asked to weigh the value of your life in front of others. He didn’t seem to think that he would come out on top. No wonder Tauriel had left Thranduil’s service.

“That is all very well, but why are you here? After all that has passed, I would not expect you to ask for my help,” Thranduil pointed out.

“We don’t need your help. We just need to go to Macalania Temple without being shot by your guards,” Thorin replied a little more sharply than was probably wise. Bilbo put a warning hand on his arm, and though the dwarf didn’t look at him, some of the tension went out of his body.

“And you can guarantee that Sin won’t move on and attack the woods after you have tried whatever plan you have?” Thranduil’s gaze was piercing. “I saw the smoke rising from the Calm Lands, and I believed that you had finally done what I wanted to prevent, only to learn that it had been the Crusaders, and they only fought a Sinspawn.”

He had been trying to protect his people from Sin’s wrath! Of course, if he like everyone else had truly believed that Sin lay sleeping inside Mt. Gagazet, he would want to avoid it moving from the Calm Lands to the next populated area. Which happened to be where his people lived. The elf summoner had probably thought that Thorin would be content to drive it out of Erebor, or would accidentally lead it into the path of innocents. Both were untrue, but it was easy to see how he had come to that conclusion.

“When it comes to Sin, there are no guarantees,” Gandalf said grimly. “But, if we are successful, no one will know the fear of Sin’s approach ever again. An eternal Calm, so to speak.”

“But if you fail, Sin will be enraged, and unleash its wrath upon the land,” Thranduil replied.

“Every summoner takes that risk,” Thorin shot back, his hackles up again. “You would take that risk, if you dared to leave your woods and actually fight like you swore to the fayth. Except that peace would be temporary, and your people would die again, this time without you to shepherd them into hiding!”

Thranduil reeled back as if struck, the first sign of genuine emotion Bilbo could remember seeing on his ageless face. Glancing at the guards, he noticed that some had lowered their bows, their expressions confused. None appeared to have particularly itchy trigger fingers anymore.

“Fine,” Thranduil said, surprising them all. “Go to your deaths. I won’t interfere, and neither will any of my men,” he added after Thorin opened his mouth to interrupt. “I would have expected you to have more sense, Summoner Morwen.”

“Sometimes a little daring is more important than sense,” she replied. “Still, if you change your mind, I’m sure your help would be welcomed.”

“Perhaps if your venture threatens my people.”

Bilbo blinked. Had he just asked them to give him an excuse to help, or was he just imagining it? He looked to Thorin for confirmation, but the dwarf’s rage was still boiling off. Gandalf winked when he met his eyes, and Bilbo felt a little safer as they left the clearing. One way or another, all of the current summoners were with them. How could they fail when they all put their power together?

“I think I understand why my brother doesn’t like him,” Dís admitted quietly as the elves returned their weapons. “I deal with more elves than most in my business, but he’s a different sort. I’m surprised he became a summoner in the first place.”

“It is common for elves to change when they lose their spouse,” Tauriel said, rejoining the group as they left the clearing. “Most do not survive the loss. In general, we are joined for life.”

“Dwarves are much the same,” Thorin told her, surprising Bilbo by deigning to speak to the elf maid. “Our hearts are like the stone we were born from. They do not change easily, and it does not even occur to us to stray.” He glanced quickly in Kili’s direction and Bilbo realized with a jolt that Thorin very much had noticed, and was commending Kili as a partner! What was even stranger, Tauriel followed his gaze, though she quickly looked away. How very odd.

“I didn’t expect that,” Bilbo admitted to Thorin as they made camp in the very same spot they had after fleeing Bevelle. “You hate elves.”

“If Kili wants to pine for an elf-maid, one who earned Thranduil’s ire is better than any other,” Thorin replied, glancing at the pair. Kili was chattering excitedly about something, using Fili to back up whatever story he was telling, and Tauriel was listening, the faint hint of a smile on her face. “Any of us could die at any time. That is Sin’s power. I can’t object to happiness, wherever it is found.”

Bilbo swallowed heavily, a lump developing in his throat. Should he tell Thorin the truth? Didn’t he deserve that much, even if it might make him unhappy? When would he get another chance, especially if they really did find Sin under the lake?

Their journey was almost over. His time with Thorin was also probably almost over. When had that happened? Had he really wasted their remaining time wondering about what he should do?

“I’ve been an idiot,” Bilbo muttered to himself. “A complete and utter fool.”

“Bilbo?”

“Do you remember what you said in these woods last time? What I said?” His voice was too loud and the dwarves were staring, but Bilbo didn’t care. He had one chance to say everything he needed to.

“Many things were said,” Thorin pointed out, suddenly looking away.

“You said that you wondered if you could carve one of these trees out of crystal,” Bilbo reminded him, and Thorin nodded, his expression relieved.

“But why that conversation?” Thorin raised an eyebrow, as if he had expected it to be about their rendezvous in by the spring. As if he would talk about that with an audience!

“I didn’t know that you were planning on dying at the time, so I said that I’d like to see it after the pilgrimage.” The memory still stung. How thoughtless he had been at the time, when the signs had all been there. In hindsight, it was so easy to see why they had shied away from discussing the end of the pilgrimage, and he had just blundered through it.

“Yes…” Thorin replied uncertainly, watching Bilbo as if he expected him to continue.

“I still want to see it,” Bilbo said. “Don’t think I forgot. So… take care of yourself. There’s no point if you let this kill you.” 

“Bilbo…” Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise, his mouth slightly open. His warm, kissable mouth. No, that wasn’t at all helpful at the moment.

“You have to live, Thorin. Please.” For me, Bilbo could have added, but this would have to be enough. Thorin had to be able to live for himself.

“I will try,” Thorin replied, his piercing eyes searching Bilbo’s face for something. “And you must promise to do the same.”

“I promise,” Bilbo agreed, though it felt like a lie.


	35. The Charge

When the company reached Dís’ travel agency, the first thing that struck Bilbo was that Macalania Lake looked different than he remembered it. After their escapades and Sin’s attack, it was no longer a calm, pristine sheet of ice, stretching off unchanged into the distance. Instead, there was a massive hole in the center, where Sin had slammed through, bearing them away to the desert.

Why had it done that? And how had it gotten under the lake in the first place without leaving a hole behind? He posed his questions to Balin, but the dwarf just shrugged.

“Who are we to guess at the various powers or motivations of the mobile armor of a pair of dueling gods?” Balin asked him instead, looking wryly at the hole. “Maybe there is an entrance on the other side of the temple that is less frozen. For our purposes, it doesn’t matter. All we can do now is hope that we can kill it.”

The arrival of the airship as they made preparations helped that hope, as Bofur assured them that they had more explosive shells loaded into the main guns, and enough laid by to destroy an army of Sins! Or so they hoped. The Crusaders and their ancient dwarvish weapons hadn’t yet managed to defeat one Sin, let alone an army of them.

Bilbo still wondered, though. When Sin had attacked the Shire, it had looked almost like a cloud. What if it wasn’t actually corporeal, or could become incorporeal at will? They really didn’t know what it could do, despite the dwarves’ confidence that all they needed was to know what it was. If they couldn’t hit it, what options did they have? Was it something other summoners had dealt with in the past, or just a quirk of this particular form of Sin?

Or, far more likely, was he seriously overthinking it?

Bilbo gripped the ring in his pocket. They could hit it, he was sure of that. If nothing else, the ring would help make Sin killable, so as long as he had it, there was nothing to worry about. Right?

“We must be careful underneath the lake,” Gandalf reminded them for at least the hundredth time. “Destroy too much of the ice, and the temple will not be able to stay upright, dooming everyone inside it to a most unpleasant death. Normally the ice restores itself through Shiva’s power, but that hole remains. Something has gone wrong.”

“Maybe we should warn the priests before we go,” Bilbo suggested, realizing with a jolt that if they were successful, Shiva would leave the temple, and they would all be doomed anyway. What would become of Macalania Woods then? What of the elves who considered it sacred? Defeating Sin would change the world in more ways than any of them had really considered.

Understanding dawned in Gandalf’s expression, and he shared a knowing look with Bilbo before speaking. “Ah, of course. The fayth will doubtless want their rest after such a long time trapped in stone, and it is always possible that Yevon will not give them another choice. Regardless, this temple may be doomed either way. Summoner Morwen?”

“What is it?” She called from behind an impressive pile of boxes, the product of Dís nearly tearing her agency apart.

“I’m afraid I must ask for your assistance in one other matter,” Gandalf said with regret that could not possibly be sincere.

“Aside from fighting Sin, you mean?” Her dark head popped up behind the boxes, wearing a bemused expression. Strange. Though Bilbo hadn’t been present for her conversation with Thorin, he knew for a fact that Thorin never would have asked her to join them. Not out of mistrust, but simply because he never liked asking anyone for anything. Despite that, apparently she had just decided to stick with them. As had Tauriel, who had refused transport back to Luca. The roof of the airship was going to be rather crowded if they all wanted their chance to fight Sin.

“Would you mind warning the priests in the temple that it is in danger of going under? I would do it myself, but under the circumstances, I am afraid we’re less than welcome at most of the temples,” Gandalf explained with even less sincere regret. 

“Surely at this point a short trip to Bevelle would clear up suspicion of any wrongdoing,” Morwen pointed out. “What do they even have on you now that Thranduil has recanted?”

Bilbo wasn’t so certain that the elf summoner had recanted. He certainly hadn’t apologized, though he doubted anyone had expected him to. 

“We don’t have that kind of time to waste,” Thorin said, wandering past with another load of cargo. He seemed more relaxed since shouting at Thranduil, completely ignoring the fact that Fili and Kili were not helping load up the ship. “Until I am High Summoner, I will always be a traitor in their eyes.”

Though apparently he had time to waste taking a circuitous route from the agency to the airship by way of the back door when the airship was near the front, as long as it took him past Bilbo. How had he missed the signs for so long? Thorin was almost embarrassingly obvious, though it was certainly enjoyable watching his muscles strain against the increasingly heavy loads he chose for himself.

Morwen and Gandalf bickered politely for several more minutes, until Bilbo eventually tuned them out, and wandered off to find Dís. He might have known that they would clash before long, their shared goals no longer enough to prevent it. Neither of them wanted the priests to die, so eventually one of them would give in. In the meantime, it seemed like Dís was trying to fit the entire contents of the agency onto the airship, and so there were boxes that needed carrying.

Morwen must have lost the argument in the end, because she returned to the Agency out of breath an hour later, with her daughters barely keeping up with her.

“We need to go, now,” she said, glancing behind her worriedly. Before anyone could ask why, she continued, grabbing the nearest person she could find and dragging him toward the airship. It happened to be Fili. “Sin is under the lake. The priests saw it as they were leaving, and promptly ran back inside, claiming I was trying to kill them all. We need to give them a distraction that they can escape.”

Gandalf’s expression tightened. “Fool priests. There is no safety in that temple. They are only guaranteeing that it will be their tomb.”

“Let ‘em lie,” Dwalin suggested with a long look at the temple. “If they want to die there, that’s their business.” Fili and Kili both tensed, but said nothing.

“Brother…” Balin said, a warning in his voice. “We have all of the supplies we need. More than, some might say. Why not go to their aid? When Sin is defeated, they might be convinced to speak on our behalf.”

“When Sin is defeated, the opinions of the priests won’t matter,” Dwalin disagreed, but he looked to Thorin, ceding the decision to their summoner.

“We should not delay any further,” Thorin said. “Sin could move on at any time. Grab what you need and board the airship. Whether the priests leave the temple or not, we cannot afford to lose Sin.”

No one in their ever-growing party could disagree with that.

“How are we supposed to fight that?” Fili asked as they approached Sin, voicing Bilbo’s earlier thought. It hadn’t yet noticed them. “It doesn’t look solid.”

“Maybe it just needs to be doused in water,” Dís suggested, readying a spell. “Kili!” Her younger son had already raised his bow to fire. “Let me try this before you waste arrows, hm?”

Kili lowered his bow, though the instant she looked away he raised it again. Thorin also had his bow at the ready, and Tauriel as well. If Dís exposed a weak point, they were going to be ready to fire at it.

Still, it wasn’t comforting to hear Thorin and Dís both muttering, “It has to have a solid body under there,” as if it was a fundamental principle of the universe. What would they do if there wasn’t a solid mass hiding under there?

Above Dís’s head, water rapidly coalesced, drawn from the clouds and the water of the lake, forming a giant bubble not unlike the Blitzball stadium. When it grew large enough to engulf the airship if her attention wavered, the bubble started floating toward the fiery cloud, it’s motion jerky and ungainly. Either Dís was pushing her abilities to their limits, or water resisted being moved in that way. Regardless, there was a blast of hot air as Sin noticed the oncoming assault, and turned toward the airship.

“Dís…” Thorin said, a warning in his voice. He had an arrow nocked on his bowstring, aiming right at Sin, but without somewhere useful to aim, there was no point in firing. 

“Just a second more,” she assured him, her eyes closed tightly and her brow furrowed with concentration.

“We may not have a second,” Dwalin muttered, nudging Thorin.

“I won’t summon until we have some idea of what we’re dealing with,” Thorin said, answering Dwalin’s unasked question. “It’s going to be a long fight.”

There was another blast of heat and Sin drew inexorably closer. It hadn’t attacked yet, maybe still assessing if they were a threat. But then, did it really have to worry about that? There were few things in Spira Sin couldn’t kill. Was it really smart enough to tell the difference? Did it have enough brainpower to toy with them?

“Dís!” Thorin repeated with greater urgency. Sin was within firing range of the main guns now, which meant very soon they would be in range for more than just blasts of heat. Faintly, Bilbo could hear Bofur calling over the intercom, asking if they wanted him to fire, but he knew Thorin. The main guns needed time to be reloaded, and he wouldn’t want to waste it so soon in the fight.

“Got it!” she replied, her eyes flying open as the bubble collided with Sin, drenching the cloud and quenching the fire completely. In it’s place, a thick cloud of steam arose, obscuring Sin’s form more thoroughly than the fire. For the moment though, it stopped Sin’s advance.

Cold air washed over them, and Bilbo glanced at Gandalf. Light was emanating from his staff as he cast a barrier around the top of the airship, and he winked at Bilbo. “It might use that fog as a cover to attack us,” he pointed out. “But do not fire any arrows from inside the barrier,” Gandalf said, raising his voice so that Tauriel, Morwen and Dís would hear him. None of them had worked from inside Gandalf’s barriers before, and trying to attack from the inside of the barrier was a surefire way to hurt yourself.

His caution was quickly revealed to be merited, as a shock wave hit the ship with tremendous force, rocking the deck but leaving the people on top of it unharmed. Gouts of flame soon followed, reminding Bilbo of the day Sin had attacked the Shire in search of Gandalf, but the barrier held fast. 

The flames cut through the steam, and it finally cleared, giving them their first look at Sin’s true form. Calling it a ‘form’ would perhaps be an overstatement, Bilbo decided. It was like a shadow made solid, not black, but rather the absence of light, like gazing into the void. As they watched, it twisted and writhed, eventually taking the shape of a giant, the top of it’s head brushing the sheet of ice above. Fiery eyes burned at the joints of its’ limbs and in the center of its’ chest, and something else sat at its’ throat, obscured by the darkness under the ice and the distance. It didn’t burn like everything else. Instead, it glinted, almost like an iron collar. But why would Sin have a necklace?

“I still don’t know if it’s solid,” Dís admitted, wiping sweat from her forehead. From exertion or Sin’s heat, it was hard to tell.

“Let’s try something before lowering the barrier,” Thorin decided, holding his communicator to his mouth. “Bofur, fire the main guns at one of those bright points. One of the ones on the legs,” he added, his expression thoughtful as he studied their enemy.

“Roger that,” echoed over the intercom, and the ports for the main guns clunked open. Fire was building in one of the eyes, but it winked out as the shells thudded into it, making the giant creature stumble forward. The airship took evasive action to avoid it, forcing everyone standing on the roof to lie flat on their bellies, but when the smoke cleared, there was a crack in one of the eyes. Thorin had been right, and the ship had damaged it.

“Lower the shield,” Thorin ordered. “Everyone focus their attacks on the eyes, starting with the damaged one.”

“And what then?” Balin asked, curious rather than condemning Thorin’s hastiness.

“We see if it opens up for us,” Thorin replied with grim determination.

“I got a new weapon for the ship from the Crusaders,” Bofur offered over the intercom. “Signal me when you want that, and we’ll see if it’s any good.”

“Did the Crusaders tell you what it does?” Bilbo asked, leaning in to Thorin’s communicator to be heard.

“Neglected to mention it,” Bofur admitted. “Or at least that’s according to Nori.”

Thorin snorted. “It’s stolen,” he muttered for Bilbo’s benefit.

“The Crusaders don’t need it where they are,” Bofur said cheerfully.

Bilbo sighed, rubbing his temples. Hopefully it would at least be worth it.

“I’m lowering the shield,” Gandalf announced, instantly attracting everyone’s attention. “Be ready to attack.”

Another blast of heat greeted them as the barrier fell, but everyone was ready. The archers unleashed a flurry of arrows into the injured leg, and Dís launched more water at it. Before fighting with the dwarves, Bilbo would have wondered that mere arrows could have any effect on something so huge, but Fili and Kili’s magic specialized in breaking the enemy’s guard, and he guessed that Tauriel’s was the same. 

Thorin handed him his communicator. “Contact Bofur when the time is right,” he said, looking away from the battle for the moment. “That includes telling him to move back if it looks like Sin is going to use a dangerous attack.”

Bilbo accepted the communicator grudgingly. At this distance, against something so huge, there wasn’t much else he could do. Balin had explained to him recently that he had an innate talent for speed magic, something he had been doing unconsciously to make them all faster in combat, and the enemy slower, but there was only so much of that he could do and still be useful. On the other hand, reading the flow of battle and determining the proper timing was difficult, and something usually reserved for Gandalf.

Thorin must have seen some of that on his face, because he said, “I trust you,” before turning back to Sin and summoning Shiva.

Why was it always so easy for Thorin to just say what he felt?

Having been given permission to sit back and watch, Bilbo soon learned the basics of Sin’s patterns. Most of its’ attacks were simple hand swipes, designed to knock them off the deck of the ship. Large as it was, it was only a little faster than Bevelle’s stone giants, so even the plodding dwarves could hit the deck in time if he shouted a warning. Still, he wished they had thought to try and tie them all to the ship. Every time Sin released a shockwave, the airship rocked dangerously, and he was afraid that someone was going to slide off. The fall might be survivable with the lake’s water below, but he had no idea how deep it was, and had no desire to find out.

The real danger though was Sin’s fire. Whenever Sin grew frustrated with their constant evasion, the eyes on it’s body would burn with a fiery light. The first time this happened, the ring throbbed painfully in Bilbo’s pocket, and he had flipped the communicator open on instinct.

“Move the ship back this instant!” he had shouted into the communicator, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what exactly.

“Right-o,” Bofur replied, without any sense of urgency, though he translated the command for Bifur. “Hold on to somethin’!”

With a lurch, the airship pulled away from Sin, sending everyone falling flat onto the deck. As they withdrew, Bilbo was glad for his haste. A huge ball of flame had come out of each of the eyes, exploding in the air in front of them. Had the airship been any closer, it would have been caught in the explosion, and that would have been the end of that.

“Great timing!” Kili called with a cheerful grin.

“I think we may have made it angry,” Balin observed wryly.

“That means it’s working,” Dwalin replied, his grin more on the feral side.

Well, that was one way of looking at it.


	36. Cracking the Shell

After pulling the ship back and forth several times to evade Sin’s explosive attacks, chipping away at the eye in between, Shiva’s foot struck the eye they had been focusing on, finally shattering whatever had been protecting it. Sin let out a thunderous groan, causing the ice above their heads to crack audibly. Of all the inglorious ways to die, crushed by falling ice was not how Bilbo wanted to go.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” Bilbo muttered, flipping open the communicator again. “Bofur, use that new weapon from the Crusaders on the damaged leg.”

“Roger. We’ll pull the ship back for this. Don’t know what might happen,” Bofur replied into the communicator instead of through the intercom, lacking some of his usual cheer.

Bilbo swallowed heavily. Should he be worried?

“They’re moving the ship again,” Bilbo announced, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of battle.

“Hit the deck!” Thorin shouted, to greater effect.

Flat on their bellies, the combatants on the deck got a front row seat of what exactly the weapon stolen from the Crusaders could do. It let out a bright beam of light, lancing through the damaged eye and severing that leg from the main body. Sin’s body shuddered as the leg fell, vanishing before it hit the bottom of the lake. But instead of falling over, as a normal creature might have, Sin simply lifted off, hovering now instead of standing. Judging by the chagrined looks on the dwarves’ faces, they had forgotten it could do that as well.

“No wonder Yevon banned our ancient technology,” Thorin observed, his expression triumphant. “They knew it might work.”

“We haven’t won yet,” Gandalf reminded him, though he did look fairly pleased as well.

“Well that was interesting,” Bofur said over the intercom. “We need a few minutes to charge it back up again, but the main guns are ready to go if you want an opening volley launched at the next eye.”

Bilbo looked to Thorin, who nodded. “Do it,” Bilbo told Bofur.

They focused on the other leg next, dispatching it much more quickly than the first now that they knew what they were doing. Darkness trailed out of the severed limbs, to what effect Bilbo couldn’t guess, but above, the ice cracked again. 

Emboldened by the relative ease of victory, they moved on to the arms. This was complicated by the fact that the arms had been the main attackers aside from the explosive attack launched by the eye, and so more evasive maneuvers were required to stay in the air. The right arm was a long and dizzying fight, and Bilbo began to grow hoarse from shouting instructions into the communicator. Thorin, frustrated with their lack of progress, summoned the Magus Sisters, showing them all what unique aeons they were.

Bilbo was not at all surprised to find that his mother and aunts took the form of vaguely insectoid-looking people, with flowers growing wherever they stepped. They were very hobbity aeons, down to the fact that Thorin could only give them suggestions, not orders. He imagined that this was like watching them as a party of summoner and guardians, noting how they cast enhancements on each other, and all seemed to have different strengths. His mother was the main attacker, rushing forward and slashing Sin with blades built in to her forearms. Aunt Donnamira cast offensive magic, and Aunt Mirabella cast healing magic. Unlike other aeons, who were mostly limited to attacking, they were a balanced party all their own, and soon smashed through the eye, disappearing with a wink at Bilbo.

The second arm was easier than the first, simply because only one limb remained to swat at them. Tauriel loaded three arrows onto her bow, closed her eyes for a moment, then hammered them home, shattering the final casing. Moments later, the ship pulled back at Bilbo’s command, and the laser severed the limb.

For a moment, no one seemed to know what to do. There was one final eye in the center of Sin’s chest, but Bilbo doubted that trying to sever the torso in the same way as the limbs would be as effective.

Then Sin’s body started changing again, the darkness roiling and twisting as it took a new shape. The airship started forward with a lurch, and Bilbo grappled for the communicator.

“Bofur, why is the ship moving?” he asked, fighting for calm when he really just wanted to scream.

“I was jus’ askin’ Bifur about that,” Bofur admitted. “He’s not doing it.”

The airship was moving faster now, and Bilbo nearly dropped the communicator. “What do you mean, ‘he’s not doing it?’ The ship is clearly moving.”

“Bifur say’s he’s got the engine going full power in the opposite direction,” Bofur told him, his shrug almost audible. “Sin’s pulling us in, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“What a responsible attitude from the people controlling this rust heap,” Bilbo muttered, snapping the communicator shut irritably. He noticed that the Company was staring, but he just shrugged.

“Brace for impact?” Balin asked wryly.

“Looks that way,” Bilbo agreed. “Maybe we should go back inside the ship, actually.”

The deck tilted precipitously as their speed continued to increase, and Gandalf threw up another barrier. “This should keep everyone on board,” he assured them, just as Kili slid down the deck and bounced off the barrier.

“Well at least we know it works,” Dwalin muttered.

As the ship moved, Sin continued to morph, the darkness stretching out around them, threatening to engulf the ship. When the tendrils hit Gandalf’s barrier, they bounced off and dissolved, but the barrier always thinned for a moment where they touched. If this continued, eventually Sin would break through, and probably crush them.

Meanwhile, the final eye danced all over Sin’s body, traveling through the darkness as if it was water and never staying in one place for more than a second. Yet, the strange iron collar Bilbo had noticed from the beginning remained exactly where it was. Could it not move, or was it not a weakness, and therefore not worth protecting?

“We need to pin down that eye,” Tauriel said, her quick eyes tracking its movements.

“If we both summon something outside of the barrier, we might be able to corner it,” Morwen suggested to Thorin.

Thorin nodded. “The aeons have a better chance of hitting it,” he agreed. “I will summon the Magus sisters again.”

“I will summon Ixion,” Morwen decided. “As the aeon of lightning, perhaps he will be fast enough.” While that was probably true, Bilbo realized that they had both chosen aeons that they had sentimental attachments too. Thorin of course had known his mother and aunts in life, and Eorl, the fayth who became Ixion, was an ancestor of Morwen’s husband. Would that give them a stronger connection, and make the aeon’s attacks more powerful?

The two summoners concentrated, somehow remaining standing with the deck of the ship shaking and shuddering, and soon the aeons appeared on the other side of the barrier, between them and Sin. Sin’s relentless press forward paused, and the airship finally stopped, though it didn’t pull back like it should have if Bifur really was throwing everything into retreat. The eye continued to move all over the body, it’s pace never slackening.

Ixion leapt onto Sin, his hooves leaving tiny lightning bolts in their wake. Bilbo expected Sin not to notice it, or at least to ignore such tiny attacks, but the darkness twisted, forming a new limb, which swatted at the horse aeon. Slow as it was, it had no chance of actually hitting the fleet-footed aeon, especially when the Magus Sisters joined Ixion, spreading out in three different directions. More limbs formed out of the darkness, swatting futilely at the aeons, but even when they did hit their mark, the Magus sisters just swatted them away like so many flies.

Sin was actively pulling back from the airship now, its attention focused entirely on the aeons. Despite that, Gandalf didn’t lower the barrier. Sweat beaded on his forehead from maintaining the barrier after a long fight, but he said nothing, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he concentrated. Some of the heat was beginning to leak through the barrier.

“You stay right there,” Belladonna said, speaking to the roving eye as she pounced. It fled from her advance, only to run into Mirabella. Fleeing again, it found Donnamira. Last of all, it found Ixion’s hooves, and was well and truly cornered.

The barrier fell, Gandalf’s arms dropping to his sides in exhaustion, and Bilbo took it upon himself to help the old man back toward the entrance to the ship while the others opened fire on the temporarily immobilized eye. Gandalf leaned on him with a grateful nod, careful not to put too much weight on so small a person. It was a slow walk, the deck of the ship shaking as they went, but finally they reached the door, and Gandalf sat.

“Thank you, my dear Bilbo, for helping an old man,” Gandalf said, leaning heavily against the wall. “Battles like this one make me wonder if perhaps I delayed too long in trying to find another path forward.”

“Maybe you did, and maybe you didn’t, but it hardly matters now,” Bilbo pointed out. “We’re here now, after all, taking care of it.”

Gandalf snorted. “Such a simple way of putting it, as if Sin were no more than a disgruntled neighbor you forgot to invite to a birthday party! And yet, that does make the situation seem less daunting,” he admitted wryly, watching the dwarves and their new allies widen the cracks in the remaining eye.

“Sin had to be beatable,” Bilbo pointed out, though it was more for his own benefit. “Summoners had managed it before. We just have to go a bit further than they did, don’t we?”

“Yes, I believe you are right,” Gandalf agreed, watching the battle with a faint smile. “And when all four races of Spira come together, perhaps such a thing is more possible than Yevon would have us believe.”

“And the Unsent,” Bilbo added, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, I don’t think victory or defeat will have much to do with me,” Gandalf admitted. “I have been at this far too long.”

The airship rocked as Sin flailed, its’ agony at the last eye being shattered obvious by the piercing shriek that echoed through the air. Cracks from the ice above sounded again, this time louder and more urgent, and Bilbo hoped that the priests had finally left the temple, because they weren’t likely to get another chance.

Light flashed, and the airship surged forward, knocking most of the dwarves to the deck. Of the taller folk, only Tauriel remained standing, though she quickly knelt, watching Sin with wide eyes. The darkness swept over them, swallowing the ship whole.

Bilbo flipped open the communicator, but the only response was static. “I can’t reach Bofur,” he told Thorin as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Not that there was much to see, though it felt like the ship was still moving. “And I don’t think Gandalf can make another shield.”

“Get back into the ship,” Thorin decided, his heavy boots stomping past.

Bilbo helped Gandalf back to his feet, though Fili soon took the wizard’s other side and relieved him of the burden. At least he assumed it was Fili. Even squinting, he could only make out vague outlines.

“I do not know what is happening,” Tauriel admitted. “Sin has stopped moving, and is making no move to attack. But if we fired on it right now, I do not think we would be able to escape.”

“This is what we wanted to happen,” Gandalf assured her. “Sin is welcoming us inside. Until it is dead, we will not be able to leave. It is always this way. Whether they succeed or fail, summoners cannot leave Sin once they decide to challenge it.”

“Why does it happen that way?” Bilbo asked as they stepped onto lift, heading back into the depths of the airship. “Sin is supposed to be armor. Why does it let people in?”

“Because deep down, the soul of Sin is a dead summoner’s guardian,” Gandalf said grimly. “They want new summoners to succeed, because that success frees them from being Sin. That does not mean that they will make it easy, but for the current Sin, just as for the rest of Spira, Thorin is their hope.”

Weeks ago, battered and lying on a beach, Bilbo would have wondered at the difficult dwarf being anyone’s hope. Not for long, seeing the way magic bloomed at his fingertips even as he pierced Bilbo with his gaze, but he would have wondered.

“Well lads and lasses, looks you’re gonna have to go inside,” Bofur was saying, staring out of the bridge windows. He had turned the airship’s front lights on, but they illuminated little. There was a path of some kind, a road that led deeper into Sin, but there was no indication of how far it went. Or if it was safe.

“I’m for it,” Kili declared, surprising exactly no one.

“Whether you go with or not,” Dís began with a sharp look at her younger son, “Do we have another choice? With the way Sin is pressing on the ship, firing the main guns would blow us up with it.”

An ominous metallic shriek accompanied her words, and Bifur spoke a long string of dwarvish into his console. Gloin shouted back, and the words, “hull breach” were clearly audible.

“Well, I think that settles it,” Balin said, shaking his head lightly. “We cannot stay here, and we cannot leave. Our only choice is to go forward.”

“Any who wish to stay with the ship can,” Thorin decided. “We might need it to get out.”

“We’ll see what we can do with repairs,” Bofur assured him. “Wouldn’t want to be trapped under the lake forever.”

Considering that they were going to be walking inside what many people considered the physical embodiment of death, the idea that they were going to walk out again sounded optimistic. But there was always a chance. Guardians at least had done it before. Guardians like Gandalf.

They filed out through the engine room, fog swirling around their ankles as they stepped off the gangplank. Bilbo rubbed his feet against the ground curiously, the texture unfamiliar to him. It didn’t feel like the bottom of the lake should, which meant they really were inside Sin. But what was Sin made of? There was no heartbeat, no sound of breathing. It really wasn’t a living creature, and it made him feel slightly ill.

“It will get lighter soon,” Gandalf assured them, leaning heavily on his staff. “The fog will lift, and we will see stairs leading to an empty city. At the center of the city is a tower. That tower is where the previous final aeon waits. We will have to defeat it to go any further.”

“A city inside Sin?” Thorin raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“Born of memories,” Gandalf said with a nod, and a significant glance at Bilbo. “It is full of powerful fiends, a mixture of those who have come here and died, and those who died when Sin came into being.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but by now Bilbo knew when Gandalf was being deliberately vague. In this case, probably to protect him. Not that there was much point anymore.

“Bilbo!” Thorin called, and Bilbo realized that he had been lagging behind the rest of the group. “Stay close. Tauriel saw a giant tortoise fiend go by.”

Bilbo saw something move in the shadows, and jogged to catch up.

The first time they encountered a fiend, it became clear that nearly all of the fiends in the dark, misty room were giants of some kind. Giant tortoises, giant golems, meteor-dropping behemoths, small dragons, which were still giant compared to Tauriel, Morwen and Gandalf… It shouldn’t have been surprising. Sin left Sinspawn behind wherever it went. This was apparently where they came from.

Each fight should have been easy, compared to fighting Sin on top of an airship, but the dwarves were soon panting with exhaustion, fresh wounds dotting their bodies. Even with two summoners, they were struggling to keep up. Bilbo felt his stomach dropped as he watched. They had just fought for their lives, of course this would happen!

How were they supposed to make it to the final aeon at this rate?


	37. Through the Fog

The fog seemed to stretch on forever, and after a few hours of walking, it felt no less interminable. Fiends would lumber out of the fog with little more warning than a growl or the pounding of feet, forcing them to walk in a tight formation. Kili whined about wanting to scout, but Tauriel assured him that she could see farther ahead than it would be safe for him to wander. Bilbo noted that that still wasn’t far enough to give them more than a few seconds of warning, and with exhaustion setting in, their reactions were getting slower. Yet with no shelter or even a change in the environment in sight, no one called a halt, and they trudged on.

“Okay, that is quite enough,” Bilbo declared after yet another battle they had barely limped away from, Dwalin trying to walk off a hard hit from something ten times his size. That wouldn’t do at all. “We’re stopping. Fili, find a safe spot. Kili, put some traps together.”

The younger dwarves saluted and went about their tasks with a rapidity that raised their mother’s eyebrows. But it wasn’t her who objected.

“Bilbo-” Thorin began, but Bilbo cut him off.

“No, I’m sorry. We can’t go any further with all of you ready to drop. This was all for nothing if we die before we do what we came for,” Bilbo said flatly. “We are going to stop and get some sleep before a stray fiend offs one of us and makes things easier for Sin.”

“I found a spot,” Fili announced, returning hastily, as if a fiend was on his trail.

“Well then, let’s go,” Bilbo said, with a sharp look at Thorin when he opened his mouth to object again.

The spot Fili had found was more of a walled corner in the mist, giving them fewer angles they would have to defend if something wandered into their camp. Kili set up a few nasty exploding traps around the perimeter, though they would probably serve more as a warning than as actual weapons against the fiends in this place. Still, it was probably the best they could hope for.

There was no wood or anything that looked remotely flammable, but that was where Dís’ insistence that they pack everything they could possibly need came in. Fili and Dwalin had both carried firewood into Sin, so that at least they could have one last hot meal before their final battle. With the fog clinging to their ankles, the wood struggled to light, but the persistence of dwarves finally won out, and they sat in a circle around it. Bilbo hoped that their bulky frames would hide the light from any curious fiends, though there wasn’t much that could be done about the delicious cooking smells that soon wafted through the air.

Once the food was served, Thorin and Morwen did a last round of healing, in some cases on people who had already passed out from exhaustion. Morwen’s daughters had been the first to go, simply by virtue of being the youngest, and lacking the tirelessness of the elf, or the sturdiness of the dwarves. Kili was next, his head dropping into his chest while Thorin saw to his wounds, and Fili wasn’t far behind. Bilbo felt his own eyelids struggling to stay open, but he was determined to stay awake until Thorin was done. He couldn’t rest until he had visual proof that Thorin had gone to sleep like he was supposed to..

“You can sleep,” Tauriel assured him softly after Bilbo’s last nod nearly toppled him over. “I have the first watch. I will make sure the summoners sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Bilbo couldn’t hold back a yawn as he said it, and Tauriel nodded.

“I was a guardian once,” she reminded him. “I know how difficult summoners can be.”

With Thranduil as her summoner, Bilbo had no trouble believing her, and nodded sleepily. “If Thorin needs convincing, wake me up,” he told her as firmly as he could with his eyes rapidly closing. If she replied, he didn’t hear it.

What he did remember was a warm weight settling near him sometime during the night, and that he moved closer to it unconsciously.

* * *

 

Bilbo woke slowly, his eyelids and limbs heavy and stiff. He wanted to say that it was morning, but the dim light was the same as when he’d gone to sleep. One of Kili’s traps was just visible in the distance, untouched. Well, of course it was, he assured himself. If one of the traps had gone off, he would have been woken up.

Rolling over, Bilbo was only a little surprised to find himself face to face with Thorin, still deeply asleep. Apparently he hadn’t needed convincing.

His body aching from sleeping on the hard ground (it was probably too late to hope that he was ever get used to it), Bilbo sat up, looking around the rest of the camp. No one stirred, and even Gandalf’s always-open eyes seemed more closed than usual. One of Morwen’s daughters was on watch, sharpening her sword to stay awake, and Bilbo crossed the camp to offer to relieve her. A hobbit might have insisted that his politeness was unnecessary. A dwarf might have said there was no need, because they weren’t tired. The girl accepted without a second thought, going to curl up with her sister.

So young, Bilbo thought, as if noticing for the first time. No wonder Morwen had joined them so easily. Her guardians were no more than children, and she had probably only brought them along to give them a little more time with their mother, even if they were both capable fighters. Maybe they shouldn’t have brought them into Sin. That went double for Fili and Kili, curled up in a similar heap nearby. They were all too young to die. Now, going back to the ship was no guarantee that they wouldn’t. It was just as stuck inside Sin as they were.

A fiend lumbered by, giving their camp a wide berth, and Bilbo spotted one of Tauriel’s arrows buried in it’s side. Apparently she had taken a more direct approach to keeping watch. How deeply had he slept that he hadn’t heard anything?

“We are close to the staircase,” Gandalf said suddenly, making Bilbo start in surprise.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Bilbo said, trying and failing to feign a smile. When would it all be over, and he could stop pretending? “Is it morning or night, do you suppose?”

“I suppose, that it would only really matter to a hobbit trying to determine the proper greetings when there are far more important matters at hand,” Gandalf replied, raising an eyebrow. “A short walk will take us to the city. From there, the tower. We will not pass another night in this place.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Bilbo observed with cheer he didn’t feel, leaning back on his hands and looking up into the darkness. “After this, I think it will be a long time before I sleep anywhere but a bed again.”

“Bilbo…” Gandalf’s piercing eyes saw right through him.

“Let me tell them my way, alright? None of your meddling or interfering.” He was deliberately vague in case someone else was feigning sleep, but at least it wouldn’t matter for much longer.

“As long as you do tell them,” Gandalf agreed. “Though you don’t seem to have much faith in the fayth’s plan.”

“I’m just tired of false hope,” Bilbo admitted. “There was never any chance that I would make it back to the Shire. There was never any chance that my mother would still be alive in this world. There was never-” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to defeat Sin. That’s what matters.”

Gandalf’s eyebrows were knitted with disapproval, but the dwarves were starting to stir, ending their conversation. Food was prepared hastily, and then they broke camp, setting off in the direction Gandalf recommended. Bilbo kept close to Thorin, noting the faintly pleased expression the dwarf wore in response. Really, how did he have the emotional energy to be pleased about something like that under the circumstances? Idiot dwarf.

Soon, a stone staircase appeared out of the fog, and Thorin practically bounded up it, though he froze when he reached the top. In a few steps, the fog cleared, revealing a startlingly familiar sight.

“Doriath?” Bilbo said, looking to Gandalf for answers. Gandalf gave him a private nod before answering.

“Sin was born there,” he reminded them. “And it draws power from fayth who remember it. Though, judging by the wear on this stone, the city is decaying. Sin is losing its power.”

“Then we should finish the job,” Thorin observed, striding down into the ruined city without a backwards glance.

The fiends in the city were different from the ones at the bottom of the stairs. They were small and mobile, more human in form, popping out from behind buildings and blending into walls until it was too late to avoid them. It made Bilbo uncomfortable, seeing how smart these fiends were. They were too human, just barely passed beyond the point of Unsent like Gandalf.

“Here,” Gandalf signalled, pointing his staff at a plain wall. He prodded it with his staff, and a glyph appeared on the surface. It flashed twice, then the wall slid into the ground. There was another identical wall a few feet behind it, and Gandalf repeated this procedure. Behind that was yet another wall, and Gandalf removed it just the same.

Finally, their path was clear to the other side of the city, and the tower rising in the distance.

“There lies the end of our long journey,” Gandalf said, leaning on his staff as they stood and stared for a moment. “The only obstacle that remains before we reach the heart of Sin is a few fiends.”

“Assuming we don’t get lost in the city,” Dís observed with a pointed look at Thorin.

Thorin looked like he was biting back a retort with all of his self-restraint. “Do you know the way, Gandalf?”

“It has been a while, but I think I remember it,” Gandalf assured him. Thorin inclined his head, as if to say ‘lead on,’ and Gandalf led them deeper into the city.

The closer they got to the tower, the more the buildings seemed to decay. A reddish rust seemed to be building up on them, though there was no reason that stone should rust. The dream was already damaged, already fading away as they walked through it. Even if they failed, would Sin be the same? And if they succeeded, was there really any chance that a remnant of the dream could survive? Sin was the most concentrated part of the dream, and it was breaking down.

In his distraction, Bilbo barely got out of the way in time when a section of the ground collapses in front of him. It was Dwalin who thought to grab him, and help him cover the last few feet. As usual, the gruff dwarf denied any need for thanks.

“That was close,” Fili observed, looking down into the new hole in the ground.

“A trap?” Kili asked, joining his brother.

“Or just the ground breaking,” Gandalf pointed out, stumping forward. “Step cautiously.”

When it was Kili who nearly fell into the next hole, they actually listened.

Far too soon, the tower was no longer just looming in the distance. It grew bigger with every step, and it’s appearance seemed to change as they approached. It changed from a square tower of grey steel to something sharper and more angular, made of some kind of pure black material. It reminded him of the strange collar they had seen around Sin’s neck before plunging inside.

“The tower itself is little more than an illusion,” Gandalf told them as they approached. “A disguise for the road that takes you into the heart of Sin.”

“Tall as it is, it’s not much of a disguise,” Balin observed, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“The sight of it is meant to inspire doubt, or so I believe,” Gandalf admitted. “Anyone who reaches it will be weary, having made a long journey to get there. The thought of having to climb a tower at the end of all that might be too much for some. They camp at the base for a night, to recover their strength. But the fiends of the city are not like the fiends outside.”

“The fiends kill them as they rest,” Thorin surmised with a grim look at the tower.

“Yes,” Gandalf confirmed. “It was wise of Bilbo to insist on a halt before we reached the city. Things might have been different otherwise.”

A large hand grasped Bilbo’s shoulder, and he didn’t have to look to know that it belonged to Thorin. A dwarvish apology for being difficult? He looked up and met Thorin’s eyes briefly, and the dwarf nodded. Not for the first time, Bilbo was struck by how easily Thorin expressed such things, with nothing like propriety or deep dark secrets to hold him back. What would he think when he finally knew the truth about Bilbo?

Bilbo shook his head. No, better to forget such thoughts. They had a mission. Even if his role was just to wait for the opportune moment and destroy the ring, it was an important role. Better not to be distracted. Even if Thorin’s hand was still on his shoulder, his warmth seeping through Bilbo’s shirt and reminding him of all the chances he didn’t take. Now there was no time.

“Is everyone ready?” Thorin asked, his hand slipping off Bilbo’s shoulder. “Whatever is on the other side of that door, we must be prepared for a difficult fight.”

“I will begin by putting up a shield in case anything tries to ambush us, but I cannot hold it for long,” Gandalf admitted. “I overtaxed myself on the airship. We will have to manage without it, by and large.”

“We’ve managed before,” Dwalin replied, hefting one of his axes onto his shoulder. “I reckon we can survive one more fight without it.”

“Summoning will be our first line of defence,” Morwen said, with a look at Thorin, who nodded. “Against a final aeon, direct attacks from anything else would be too dangerous. Focus on protecting your allies and ranged attacks.”

Bilbo swallowed heavily. He couldn’t help but think they were trying to say that if they lost anyone in this fight, it would invalidate what they were trying to do by finding another way to fight it. But if nothing else, this would be Gandalf’s last fight, and probably his as well, to say nothing of the aeons. If Thorin knew about the dream people whose lives would be ended by this, would he change his mind? Or was their sacrifice worth it, compared to the ‘real’ people of Spira? Somehow, he didn’t want to know what Thorin would say if he knew.

Then they were pushing open the tower door, jostling Bilbo as they crossed the threshold in a tightly knit formation, Gandalf’s shield just barely covering all of them. For a moment, there was nothing. Darkness surrounded them, nothing visible outside of the light cast by Gandalf’s staff. Then, the darkness shifted, morphing and changing, until they stood on a narrow catwalk over a… blitzball stadium?

“Where are we?” Kili asked, trying to step out from behind the barrier and only succeeding in running into it.

“The heart of Sin,” Gandalf answered, before a giant sword crashed down on the barrier and nearly shattered it.

“Move!” Thorin shouted, and the company scattered as Gandalf dropped the shield and the sword finished its’ swing. It slammed down on the catwalk, hitting nothing but stone, but still generating enough of a shockwave to send them all running for more solid ground.

The sword withdrew slowly, and Bilbo got his first good look at the previous final aeon. It looked more human than many of the other aeons, yet giant and twisted, like a fiend with a human face. A tattered black cloak fluttered around its giant shoulders, perhaps a clue to who the aeon had once been. It mattered little now. Whoever it was, they had to defeat. Hopefully they would be grateful to be free.

Light sprang forth from Thorin’s fingers as he summoned the aeon sword, though against a weapon close in size to the airship, it could hardly make more than a dent, or so Bilbo thought. When the giant sword swung down again, Thorin ran to meet it, and Bilbo wasn’t the only one to shout his name frantically in the hope that they might dissuade him from something so suicidal. The ring throbbed in Bilbo’s hand as the huge sword crashed down on Thorin’s, though he couldn’t remember having grabbed it. Yet somehow, when the dust cleared, Thorin wasn’t crushed. He stood under the sword, with the aeon sword between him and certain death, and for a moment, no one moved.

Dwalin was the first to charge, taking advantage of the aeon’s distraction to attack its fingers. Dís moved next, sending gouts of flame at the aeon’s eyes. Then they were all moving, charging to the center and hacking wildly at the aeon, their carefully laid plan forgotten. Another aeon joined the fray, summoned by Morwen, but even Bilbo had forgotten where his place lay on the battlefield, in his rush to defend their reckless summoner.

Maybe it was useless. Maybe they were going about this all wrong, trying to overwhelm an otherworldly being with little more than brute strength, even if some of it came from aeons. Thorin clearly had no idea what he was doing, and the same was true of the rest of them. But it was better than following Luthien blindly. Wasn't it?


	38. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished this chapter today so I'm posting it early! I think only two more chapters after this, at most. Thanks for reading for so long!

“How did you know that was going to work?” Bilbo demanded when they finally managed to extricate Thorin from underneath the aeon’s sword. Thankfully, it was too distracted by the dwarves and men hacking at it’s fingers, to say nothing of the arrows Tauriel was firing at its face, to focus on one dwarf being slowly pulled away by a hobbit. It was impossible to move any faster, with a cluster of dwarves in the way and something definitely broken.

“I didn’t,” Thorin admitted, which was of course the completely wrong answer. “But I thought a sword that was actually an aeon could stand up to another aeon. I was right.”

“It still needed you to hold it, and strong as you are, you are not an aeon,” Bilbo replied tartly. “Next time, warn someone before you go charging into danger like that. You could have been crushed!”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Thorin said, pouring magic into his limp sword arm. The blow had definitely broken something, but knowing Thorin, he intended to hit it with magic and go right back into the fray.

“We had a plan, remember? Summon, and keep the more vulnerable people away from the action?” Bilbo prodded Thorin’s sword arm sharply, and the dwarf actually winced. “There’s still one more fight after this. Don’t… Don’t make it so that you’re not there to see it. Everyone’s fighting to protect you.”

“They’re fighting to protect Spira,” Thorin disagreed, his magic flowing thick enough that it was almost blinding.

“Don’t be difficult,” Bilbo replied, giving the healing arm a smack just as the light faded, and Thorin flexed it carefully, rotating his shoulder in the joint. “Now summon something and stay behind it.”

“Yes Bilbo,” Thorin said, his expression far too cheeky for a dwarf his age, to say nothing of their current situation.

The final aeon shoved one of the dwarves out of the way to retrieve its sword, but Thorin was ready. More light sprang forth from his fingers, and the Magus Sisters dropped down in front of the sword, Belladonna repelling the final aeon with blades of fire that popped out of her arms. The dwarves rallied behind them, using the aeons for cover while they rained blows on the final aeon.

Bilbo focused on trying to spot some kind of weakness. It was likely that the final aeon didn’t really have one, or at least one that they could exploit, but while hacking at its fingers seemed to distract it, it was hard to say if they were actually doing any damage. When the flow of battle gave him the chance, he asked Fili and Kili if their piercing magic was having any effect, but they only shrugged.

“It’s hit and miss,” Fili admitted. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Maybe if we were faster,” Kili suggested, which was a hint Bilbo couldn’t miss. He gave them a burst of speed before retreating to study the final aeon again.

“Who was the last high summoner?” he found himself asking, as if that would provide a clue.

“One of the Dunedain rangers,” Gandalf told him, appearing nearby. “They are the descendants of a kingdom destroyed by Sin, a line of Men with a hint of elvish blood in their veins. They have a few high summoners to their credit, and some say that is why, though they have been known to help the Crusaders as well.”

Unfortunately, that was no help. A history lesson wasn’t going to take this thing down, even if it did explain the black cloak fluttering around its shoulders.

As he thought, Bilbo toyed with the ring, letting its smoothness calm him as he tried to concentrate. If Gandalf was right, it was dangerous for him to be handling it so much, but often it just popped into his hand without him realizing it. And, hadn’t it helped, by giving him some warning when dangerous attacks were imminent? Maybe holding it would help him think of a weakness.

The final aeon’s head whipped around, and it seemed to stare straight at Bilbo with fiery eyes. A hand shot out in his direction, and only a hasty dodge saved him from being crushed. It wasn’t done, however. Despite the dogged attacks from the company, it continued to target him. Slow as it was, he could get out of the way without too much trouble as long as he paid attention, but he couldn’t keep doing it forever. Why was the aeon suddenly targeting him?

“Good job!” Kili called, giving him a thumbs up. As if distracting it had been part of some plan.

“Keep going, Bilbo!” Thorin added, sending a burst of magic in his direction. It helped more than the words, lightening some of his fatigue. He added some of his own magic to speed up his feet, just in time to avoid another swipe of the hand.

Bilbo stumbled and nearly dropped the ring, and when he looked up at the aeon again, he could follow its eyeline straight to the ring. Of course that was it. A piece of Sin would know what the ring was, though even if it didn’t, he remembered the way Isildur had spoken about the ring. He said his luck had changed that day, going from bad to worse, but maybe it was just that the ring had a way of drawing unpleasant attention, as it was doing now. Any of those possibilities was bad for him.

The final aeon let out a frustrated sound, reaching for him faster this time, and Bilbo barely had time to shove the ring back into his pocket before getting out of the way. There was a sickening crack as its’ arm smacked into the ground, the force of repeated blows finally visibly damaging the catwalk, and sending a large section of it crumbling into the stadium below. Bilbo realized with a jolt that the company was on the other side, and he was alone on his side of the catwalk. Moreover, it was definitely too far for him to jump, and if he couldn’t make it, the dwarves couldn’t either. The final aeon seemed to realize this too, shrugging off the increasingly frantic blows and turning toward Bilbo once again.

Well, at least if it ended this way, he would be spared having to explain that he was dream. It might be the smallest of comforts, but it was still a comfort.

Bilbo had forgotten the aeons. Thorin had not dismissed the Magus sisters, relying on their powerful blows to damage the aeon while Bilbo served as a distraction. Now that Bilbo’s life was in clear danger and no one else could get to him, the Magus sisters sprung into action. Even before the words left Thorin’s mouth, they were moving, Belladonna at the front, driving a solid kick into the final aeon’s face, and it let out a roar of pain. Mirabella and Donnamira weren’t far behind, casting a barrier on Bilbo and sending magic flying at the aeon faster than Bilbo could register.

Then the final aeon swatted Donnamira aside, making her hit the ground beside Bilbo with a crunch, and he remembered that it was only a distraction. He needed to move, and find a way back to the company.

“Hurry!” Balin called, holding out his weapon as if he meant Bilbo to grab it, and Bilbo decided it was a better plan than waiting for the final aeon to finish off his mother and aunts. He ran for the gap, but stopped when Tauriel leapt across to join him. He did not miss the envious looks the dwarves shot at her back, at not being able to do the same.

“I can carry you across,” she offered. “But we must be quick.”

Bilbo saw his mother take a hard blow from the aeon’s fist, then looked back at the sharp edges on Balin’s weapon that he would have to hold on to. “Right. Shall we?”

Tauriel lifted him easily, leaping over the gap without even taking a running start. Bilbo barely felt the landing, though he did feel the dwarves fussing over him the second Tauriel set him down. Dís and Thorin were the worst, each taking a side of him to check for wounds while the others returned their attention to the final aeon.

“I’m fine, really,” Bilbo insisted, trying to shake them off. There was a part of him that was afraid they would find something he didn’t want them to find if they looked too closely. “Just a little winded. Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the final aeon?”

“You could have been killed,” Dís insisted, raising her eyebrows and pointing with her eyes at Thorin, as if to say, ‘let my brother have his worry.’ Thorin, for his part, ignored the conversation entirely. “And the final aeon seems to be taking care of itself now.”

Bilbo and Thorin both turned to look at that, and the change was obvious immediately. Either they had managed to tire it or badly wound it, but the result was the same: it was slumped over, it’s attacks coming slower. The same could be said of the Magus sisters, leaning on each other for support and practically limping back to Thorin, but the damage had been done.

It was hard to repress the burst of joy Bilbo felt as he said, “We’re almost there!”

“One more push should do it,” Dwalin agreed, watching the final aeon with the eye of a seasoned veteran. “Got any magic left, Thorin? Those aeons are done for.”

Thorin stepped back from Bilbo, apparently satisfied that he had made it out without any gaping wounds. Extending his hand, he recalled the Magus sisters, who all gave Bilbo a look before disappearing.

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured, and hoped they heard it. It wouldn’t do for his mother to think he had forgotten his manners in this world of death.

Then light appeared in Thorin’s hand as he summoned yet another aeon. Bilbo could not approve of the choice, and he was not alone in that disapproval.

“Yojimbo, Thorin?” Balin’s lips were set in a thin line of disapproval. “He must be paid to attack, as I recall.”

“If we die, we have no further need of our gold,” Thorin pointed out, crossing his arms. “And he must be strong, to be worthy of payment.”

There was a muted chuckle, and it took Bilbo a moment to realize that it was coming from Yojimbo. No, Isildur, who must know exactly where he was and what they were fighting.

“Pay me, and you will see for yourself,” Isildur said, staring down the final aeon with an impassive expression.

Balin sighed as Thorin paid the aeon, but once he had had received his money, Isildur’s expression changed to one of feral delight.

“For this chance to redeem myself against an ancient enemy, I am grateful,” he said, drawing his sword slowly. Sensing that something dangerous was about to happen, the dwarves moved behind the aeon, and Morwen ushered her daughters and Tauriel behind one of her own. Gandalf stood between the two aeons, and Bilbo saw the familiar light of a barrier emanating from his staff. The last one they would get, judging by the sweat beading his face.

Isildur held his drawn sword in front of his face for a moment, then, like lightning, he struck, slashing at the final aeon with unexpected fury. He only struck one blow, but it generated a shockwave that could have knocked someone off the catwalk if not for the barrier and the defensive aeon.

That one blow cleaved the final aeon in two, parting chest from legs, and then with a final howl, the aeon disappeared. No one moved or spoke, disbelief painted on every face, but when minutes passed and the final aeon did not return, the dwarves let out a cheer.

The Men and elf could not help joining in, but their delight was short-lived. The aeons they had summoned began to make strange sounds, their skin changing to a sickly green color.

“So this is how my father felt,” Isildur observed, holding up his hands and watching them change. “We’re being taken to become a new Sin. You must destroy us before that happens. Only when every aeon you have has been absorbed and defeated will you be able to advance.”

They had known this was coming, but it was still a hard pill to swallow.

“What will happen to you if you’re defeated with Yevon still inside you?” Bilbo asked, clutching the ring tightly.

“Who can say?” Isildur replied, a spasm of pain crossing his face, and his color change sped up. “But you must do it regardless.” He illustrated his point by slashing at them, forcing the nearby dwarves to get out of the way quickly, but it lacked the speed of his earlier blow. They had a chance while Isildur was still resisting.

Thorin said nothing as they gathered around the aeons and prepared to fight back, but his expression was tight with pain. It made Bilbo wonder again what it was like to receive an aeon’s power, both the sensation of the transfer, and knowing that you were judged worthy by them. Thorin had defeated Morwen because his bond with the aeons was stronger, and now he had to destroy that bond with his own hands, without knowing what would become of the fayth as a result.

Tar-Miriel had guided Bilbo through discovering the truth about himself. Glorfindel had given them the first clue that something about summoning was not quite right. Isildur had given them the key to defeating Sin. And then of course there was his mother and aunts. But Bilbo had already lost them once, assuming they were dead and gone. Maybe it would be easier the second time, if they weren’t able to hold on to themselves, or to him. He wouldn’t have to grieve for long then. That was another small comfort in a world of grief.

The dwarves, seeing Thorin’s pain, dispatched Yojimbo quickly, and Morwen did the same with Ixion. One by one, Thorin and Morwen summoned all of their aeons, only for Yevon to possess them, and for their guardians to be tasked with killing them. They were slower and weaker than they had been, but they all had new gashes by the time the last aeon faded in a shower of pyreflies. That was why Bilbo first thought the wetness on his cheeks was blood, until he wiped it away and found that he’d been crying. The redness of Thorin’s eyes suggested that he had been doing the same, and he was hardly the only one.

Something was supposed to happen now, Bilbo recalled from their conversation with Luthien. Something would appear that would allow him to destroy the ring, and change the course of the fight between Mairon and Melian. She said they would know it when they saw it, but nothing had really changed.

The catwalk terminated in a wider rounded platform, and absently that was where Bilbo headed, away from the grief. When he reached it, he found Tauriel already there, her expression tight as if she didn’t know what to feel. Thinking she might prefer privacy, Bilbo turned to go back, and the elf-maid noticed him.

“Wait,” she called, her attention caught by something in the stadium below.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, jogging to her side and looking in the same direction. As he looked, he realized that maybe Tauriel didn’t have the words to explain it.

As a rule, blitzball stadiums were full of water. Even in the fading dream, that was true. Or at least it had been. But with the defeat of their aeons, something was changing in the water. Its’ movement had become thicker, more gelatinous, and maybe it was just the light, but it was looking more red than blue as time went on. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the air was getting warmer as well.

“Look there!” Kili cried, pointing in the distance, into the city beyond the stadium. Bilbo had a squint to see it, but as he watched, he saw two figures becoming clearer, locked in battle.

“The defeat and complete removal of their protective shield has revealed the location of Mairon and Melian,” Gandalf said, leaning heavily on his staff. “We must act quickly before their battle draws any nearer.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” Bilbo asked, looking around him in despair. “Lady Luthien said that the place where I should destroy the ring would be obvious, but I don’t see anything.”

“It is beneath you,” Gandalf said, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder and nodding in the direction of the stadium. For Bilbo’s ears only, he said, “As the dream is torn open by what we did to the aeons, the true shape of the inside of Sin is revealed: Mairon’s dream. A world of death and destruction, held at bay and concealed only by Melian’s wish for a world of life. We thought we were standing on top of a Blitzball stadium, but in a few minutes it will finish its transformation into its true form: a volcano.”

“A volcano?” Bilbo spluttered, lowering his voice when he realized that he had drawn the attention of the dwarves. Tauriel, he suspected, heard everything. “And I have to throw the ring into it?” It throbbed painfully in his pocket, as if it understood that it was about to be betrayed. Maybe it did.

“Before it finishes its transformation completely and the heat kills those of us who are not already dead, yes,” Gandalf confirmed. “What will happen after that is anyone’s guess, but with any luck the airship’s repairs are completed.”

There was no longer any doubt as to whether or not it was getting hotter. Sweat beaded Bilbo’s forehead, and he heard Dwalin mutter something about the temperature in relation to the heat of a forge. He was already running out of time. He just had to do it. Take the ring from his pocket, hold it over the edge, and drop it. Only a few simple movements, really.

He got as far as holding it over the edge before doubts clawed their way into his mind. If he did this, the dream would die, along with everyone in it. Even if his mother was a fayth, even if he had been touched by Sin, that likely included him. Ignoring the other lives that would be lost, fake as they were, could he give his own life for Spira, as Thorin had been so willing to do?

It was the ring that supplied the answer, its voice soft and slippery in his mind, yet somehow familiar. It whispered of the cruelties of the world, of the madness of the Yevon clergy and the baseless discrimination against the dwarves. Why save this world at the cost of your life? Children of the dream are beloved of the fayth, the ring pointed out. But Spira was beloved by death and destruction, and that was the fate it deserved. A world of suicidal fools and cowards, that had existed far longer than it should have. Sin’s shepherding of it is just, the ring argued softly. And as long as he remained with them, anyone Bilbo cared about would be safe. As long as he stayed close, and didn’t trouble Sin. With the blow they had dealt it, it might not even rise again in his lifetime, so why go to such trouble?

Everyone was watching him now, Bilbo realized with a jolt. How long had he been standing there, with his hand over the abyss? It was getting hotter every second, and the ring’s voice in his head grew louder too. As the illusion stripped away, it grew more powerful.

“Destroy it, Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice cut through the ring’s chatter in his mind, and soon the shouts of the other dwarves followed. For the moment, it was almost enough to keep him focused on the task at hand and ignoring the ring, but he could tell that it wouldn’t work for long. The ring’s voice was getting louder and louder, demanding to know why he would risk his own life for the sake of this tainted world.

But it had never been for the sake of the world, Bilbo realized, his fingers loosening around the ring. Spira had some beautiful places and things, but the world itself had never meant that much to him. It was the people in it who had touched him, with their desire to survive beyond all hope, to find peace amidst death. A few good people, fighting with everything they had. Captain Bard, facing down a Sinspawn surrounded by a sea of flames. Dís, thumbing her nose at the prejudices her people faced and traveling the world running a very necessary business. Thorin.

They don’t know what they’re asking of you, the ring hissed in his mind, sounding more desperate than before.

“It’s you who doesn’t know,” Bilbo said, scarcely aware that he was speaking aloud, “why people make sacrifices. Let me tell you.” He loosened his fingers even more, the ring barely held aloft anymore. It took more effort, and he could feel the ring struggling to control him, trying to force him to close his fingers. He didn’t have much time left before it would be impossible.

“Bilbo!” The voice this time belonged to Gandalf, but he barely heard it, so focused on the fingers of his hand holding the little golden band.

“It’s because- because there’s some good in this world,” Bilbo said, nearly choking on the words as he struggled to open his fingers the rest of the way. “And whether that makes sense to you or not, being a ring and all, it’s worth fighting for. Some might say worth dying for.” With tremendous effort, he wrenched his fingers apart, knowing as he did so that even a second more of delay would have kept him from doing it forever.

The ring fell.


	39. The Dream Will End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that there is one more chapter after this. I hope to have it up tomorrow or the day after so that you don't have to wait too long, though feel free to comment with angry keysmashes, I can take it.

Bilbo nearly keeled over from exhaustion, landing safely in Gandalf’s arms. The wizard had been beside him the whole time, and he had barely been aware of it. He would have thought it strange, were he not utterly spent.

“Nothing’s happening,” Dwalin complained, watching the fighting Maiar in the distance. The pace of their battle hadn’t changed.

“It will not be destroyed until the stadium has finished its' transformation,” Gandalf told him, earning confused looks from everyone except Bilbo. “We must flee before that happens, or the volcano will kill us all. But thankfully, our work here is done.”

“Sin will be destroyed?” Kili asked, enthusiastic energy practically pouring off him. He was the only one who didn’t look like death, except perhaps for Tauriel.

“Yes my lad, but if we don’t want to be destroyed with it, we must go. Now,” Gandalf added for emphasis.

There was only one problem with that, something Bilbo remembered dimly as Gandalf passed him off to the children of Thráin, both of them taking one of his arms and wrapping it around their shoulders. Part of the catwalk had been destroyed in the fight, and Tauriel was the only one who could make it safely across.

“This is what I brought rope for,” Dís admitted, signalling Fili, who removed a coil of rope from his pack. How it had survived their harrowing fights for their lives, no one might ever know. With Tauriel able to jump across to secure it, they soon had a way to cross the hole, but it was too slow. Bilbo’s entire body felt sticky with sweat, the heat still increasing steadily. His hands were almost too slick to hold on to the rope, and by the time they all made it across, it was hotter and slicker still.

The panic of the discovery that they had no idea how to get back was negated by the timely appearance of the airship, swooping down in the nick of time and scooping them up in a hurry.

“Do you know how to get out?” Morwen asked Bofur, healing some scrapes on her daughters’ arms.

“We decided that if we can’t find a way out, we’ll make one,” Bofur replied, sounding as relaxed as ever. “The weapon from the Crusaders still has some juice left.”

“It’s highly unstable,” Dori pointed out, giving Bofur a disapproving look. “We still don’t know what powers it.”

“I don’t see how it matters, as we’re dead if we don’t get out, and we’re dead if it blows,” Bofur replied with a shrug.

It would have been nice, Bilbo thought, to see a world where death was referenced less casually. But, as he held up one of his hands, for a moment he thought he could see through it. That wasn’t a good sign for seeing Spira without the shadow of Sin.

Silently, with what stealth he had mastered in the Via Purifico, Bilbo slipped out of the bridge, and headed for the deck. The entire airship shook as he neared the top of the elevator, and when he stepped out, Bilbo saw sunken Numenor laid out beneath him. Turning around, he saw Sin, little more than a blob of darkness now, smashing through the ice and up into the night sky, beams of light piercing its' body as it fled. The airship followed, Bifur clearly taking care to avoid being crushed by falling chunks of ice. The last thing Bilbo saw before they were too far from the lake was the temple slowly sinking beneath the ice.

“It’s dangerous up here, you know,” Gandalf said, the doors of the ship closing behind him. “You could have been crushed by falling ice, or hit by one of Sin’s death throes.”

It was moving slower now, though limbs were lashing out of its' amorphous body wildly, before being drawn back in and disappearing. In its' flight, Sin had reached Bevelle, and dimly Bilbo heard a siren start to sound, and the familiar thunder of the stone giants pushing themselves to their feet. At least they had been able to keep their bargain with Thranduil.

“I don’t think there’s much of me left to crush,” Bilbo admitted, showing Gandalf his hands, which were switching back and forth between solidity and nonexistence more rapidly now.

“Oh dear,” Gandalf exclaimed, reaching for Bilbo’s hands. “I wondered what would happen, but I did not expect this.”

“What did you expect?” Bilbo remembered a time when it had felt like Gandalf knew everything, and was hiding it all under his hat. But the wizard had never been omniscient, he had just been dead longer than most people had been alive.

“I don’t know,” Gandalf admitted. “One theory was that you would just fade away on the spot, but something told me you were more real than that. More real than I am, anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?” Now it was Thorin’s turn to appear in the doorway, his sister and guardians all behind him. For a moment, Bilbo assumed they had come up to watch Sin die over Bevelle, but while Fili and Kili were transfixed by the sight of their ancient enemy twisting and writhing in the sky, Thorin wasn’t looking at the city. On instinct Bilbo hid his hands behind his back.

“Perhaps this will explain things,” Gandalf said, pyreflies suddenly oozing out of his body and drifting lazily around.

The dwarves said nothing, shock written on all of their faces, and Bilbo took advantage of the distraction to inch away from the group. Once Gandalf was taken care of, it was his turn next. He could feel it. At least he would have long enough to say goodbye.

“That’s why you wouldn’t go into the Farplane,” Fili realized.

Gandalf nodded. “Exactly. I was concerned that I might not be able to leave it again, and my task here was not yet finished. Now it is, and you have one last duty to perform, Thorin: the Unsent must pass on.”

“Why did you say nothing?” Thorin demanded. “Why did you-” He broke off, turning to Bilbo, who froze in place. There was no chance of quietly slipping away now. “You knew.”

“He told me in Doriath,” Bilbo admitted, well aware of how long ago that felt now, even if it had only been a few days. “I wanted to say something,” he rushed to add. “But Gandalf and I, well… we were keeping each other’s secrets.”

Bilbo forced himself to look at Thorin as he moved his hands from behind his back. He watched the way Thorin’s expression changed from displeased at being deceived, to confused.

“Bilbo’s an Unsent too?” Kili asked. “He didn’t travel through time after all?”

“I’m not an Unsent,” Bilbo assured him, though he found it hard to look away from Thorin. He imagined that the other dwarves looked grim, or perhaps disappointed, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Thorin just looked hurt, and it was entirely his fault. “But I didn’t travel through time either. I thought I did for a while, until I collapsed on top of Mt. Gagazet, but… if only it had been that simple.” He hoped that the admission would soften the blow somewhat, so that Thorin would know that at least in Macalania, he hadn’t known the truth about himself.

“You must Send me, Thorin,” Gandalf insisted. “And, it seems that you must also let Bilbo Baggins go.”

That was enough to finally tear Thorin’s attention away from Bilbo. “‘It seems?’ You knew this would happen from the beginning!”

“And when you set out on your pilgrimage, you believed with absolute certainty that you were going to your death, as your forefathers before you had done, Thorin son of Thráin,” Gandalf countered. “Yet you kept that from Bilbo. A summoner's privilege some might say. Others might say a convenient lie of omission.”

“That’s not fair,” Bilbo said, surprising the hurt and anger away for a moment, and drawing Thorin’s attention back to him. “He just couldn’t find the words. I understand that now.” He turned to Thorin. “And I was so busy trying to think of a way to save you. I didn’t want to shift the focus to me, when you were the one we all wanted to save. And it worked, so I can’t feel too bad about it.”

“But-” Thorin began.

Bilbo shook his head. “No buts, do you hear me? Look around you,” he said with a laugh that felt slightly too loud. “Sin is dying, for good this time. Erebor is free from the Sinspawn that occupied it. Your sister, cousins, and nephews are all alive and well, if a little worse for wear. You’re alive, despite your best attempts to change that. There is nothing, nothing! For you to feel sad about. You did what you set out to do. Now it’s... over.”

He turned away, his feet like lead weights as he tried to walk away. How could he feel so heavy when his body was literally disappearing?

“Bilbo, amrâlimê.” Thorin’s voice was thick with desperation, and a lump settled in Bilbo’s throat. He could practically feel the unnatural stillness that had gone through the dwarves at this pronouncement, but he didn’t turn around.

“I don’t… I don’t know what that means,” Bilbo said, though he felt tears wetting his eyes. Said in that tone of voice, it was hard to mistake Thorin’s meaning, whatever the words actually meant.

“I think you do,” Thorin replied, his voice breaking. Bilbo wanted to turn around, wanted to run back to Thorin, but he kept his feet firmly planted. There would be no point in it. He couldn’t comfort Thorin now, with his torso starting to fade.

“Go back to your mountain, Thorin,” Bilbo said, his toes hanging off the edge of the ship now. “Carve your trees. Watch them glitter in the sunshine on a bright, peaceful day.”

“Will you come to see them?” There was a note of hope in Thorin’s voice, as if he thought he had found the trick to making Bilbo stay. Bilbo didn’t have it in him to crush that hope entirely.

“If I can.”

Then he was falling, though his body felt as light as air. He felt hands guiding him, though to where he couldn’t say, but they cradled him gently as he fell, until everything went dark.

* * *

 

“Thorin!”

Thorin ignored Dwalin’s call, preferring to sit at the end of the pier and stare out to sea. He had been doing little else for days, as if expecting a certain hobbit to wash up on the beach again. But no, that was impossible. He had Sent Gandalf and Luthien, and Bilbo was gone. Where, though? What had he really been, except the one to save them all? How could someone that important just disappear, as if he had never existed at all?

“Thorin!”

Dwalin was closer now, his irritation evident in his tone, but Thorin still didn’t move. What could anyone really need from him? He had done what he set out to do. The first dwarf high summoner in centuries, and bringer of the Eternal Calm. No one had the right to ask him to do anything else. Not even his own kin.

“They’re waitin’ for you,” Dwalin said, tugging Thorin to his feet unceremoniously. “After that, you can mope all you want and no one will say a word, but for now, you have to do this.”

“I am not moping,” Thorin argued, letting Dwalin steer him toward the stadium. The promise of being left alone for a while was tempting. No more being nettled to eat and sleep and talk to people.

“Oh, then what do you call this, hm?” Balin asked, waiting at the end of the pier with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised. “It’s a bittersweet victory for all of us, but it’s the same for everyone. Everyone in Spira has lost people they care for to Sin, and you finally brought an end to it. They won’t care if you’re melancholy. They just want to see their savior, and maybe hear a few words. There’s no set format. No other High Summoner has been able to do this.”

Thanks to Bilbo’s constant prodding, questioning, and general trouble-making.

The thought caused a new ache in Thorin’s chest, but he walked forward under his own power now. Balin was right. He wasn’t the only one who had lost someone, and Bilbo was hardly the first person he had lost. Far from it. It was the one thing everyone could understand. Elves and Dwarves, Men and Hobbits, if there were even any Hobbits left. Even Thranduil, with his heart of ice, had lost someone once.

The roar of the crowd as he stepped onto the stadium balcony was deafening, even though the railing had been built with someone more like Maester Saruman in mind, and so his head and chest barely peeked over it. Where was their famous hatred for Dwarves? Thorin wondered, before remembering that this was Luca, and these were mostly Summoner Morwen’s people. This was not Bevelle, where Yevon’s fear-mongering was strongest.

“I always thought,” he began, not really knowing what to say, but the crowd fell silent instantly, “That the Eternal Calm was nothing but a dream. A fairytale told to comfort children who couldn’t sleep for fear of Sin. A pleasant dream, but nothing more than that. It was one of my guardians who convinced me to aim higher, that we are the ones who decide what dreams become real.”

Thunderous applause greeted that statement, though Thorin barely heard it. He wasn’t even talking for their benefit. These words weren’t really his. They felt like they were coming from a great distance, somehow piercing the fog that had settled over his mind for the past few days. All he knew was that he needed to say them, and he needed someone to listen.

“He is not with us anymore.” Those words silenced the crowd. “The same is true for all of us. We have all lost people, to fiends, to Sin, or, if they were lucky, something less painful. Now they watch us and wonder what we will do with this chance. It’s a chance no one has had in thousands of years, to build the world how we want it.”

Another cheer went up from the crowd, and he felt Dwalin’s hand on his shoulder, a comforting weight. He could get through this. He could say everything he needed to say.

“Maester Saruman is gone. So are many of the other maesters.” They had vanished during the night they fought Sin, or so the frantic priests had reported, desperate for some kind of leadership. More Unsent, Thorin had supposed, fleeing this world out of fear. “They cannot guide us anymore as we try to find a road forward. We must… try to find one ourselves.”

The crowd was less sure about how to react to that statement. It wasn’t an unambiguous message of hope. Many of the people likely didn’t know that the maesters had vanished, and he had no intention of besmirching their legacies now. But Yevon was gone, in every sense of what Yevon had meant. It was impossible for Spira to stay the same with it gone. Some might cling to the old ways, the priests insisting that his victory was proof of their purity, but he knew better. Bilbo Baggins had been many things, but pure was not one of them.

“It will be hard,” Thorin said, breaking through the chatter for one final time. “But we owe it to those who have gone to build a Spira worthy of their sacrifice.”

He left the stadium to more cheers and applause, but Thorin barely noticed. A few hours ago, he had been ready to quit, ready to give up on Spira. Even with Sin gone, it was still a world with the shadow of death hanging over it, and truly living in this world, not just surviving, would still be hard.

But now? He remembered an old adage, one his father had been fond of. ‘You can work for food, or you can beg for food,’ Thráin would say. ‘One exhausts your body, and the other exhausts your heart. We sons of Durin have sturdy bodies, but our hearts are not as strong. They recover more slowly, more like the rich earth than the firm stone. Never strain your heart if you can strain your body instead.’

If there was one thing Thorin could do, it was hard work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the uninitiated, what Thorin says in Khuzdul basically means 'my love,' which is much less of a mouthful than the more literal khuzdul for 'I love you.'


	40. Epilogue: The Eternal Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me for this very long journey. This fic has been both a joy and a pain to write at times, and I'm glad that it will finally exist in its completed form. As for what's next, well, I've still got some things for the Color of Possibility verse in the works, but beyond that it might be nice to take a break from keeping a writing schedule for a while.

At first, he was only aware of the sand. Wet, gritty, and absolutely everywhere, the dratted stuff. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel it pressing up against his face, prepared to fling itself into any unprotected orifices. Like his nose. When it came to his clothes, it wasn’t waiting. It had already invited itself inside.

Then he noticed the water, splashing against his feet and retreating, in a rhythm that reminded him of ocean waves. At first it was pleasant, washing some of the sand away, but soon he was just damp and uncomfortable. Not cold though. The air was more than warm enough to compensate.

How did he know that? How could he feel the sand on his face, the water on his feet, the heat hanging in the air? And why did his body hurt as if a bunch of fauntlings had used him for conkers target practice?

His limbs screaming in protest, Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, pushed himself into a sitting position and blinked absently at his surroundings. It was the same as that first day, when he had awoken on Besaid. The island was as green and lush as before, though the dark clouds in the distance suggested an oncoming storm. It would be better to find shelter before that.

But how was this possible? Was it really Besaid, or just a projection from his memories? Another dream, built to keep him calm.

“It is not a dream,” a soft voice assured him, drawing Bilbo’s attention immediately. Tar-Miriel stood, or rather floated, in front of him, her expression rueful. “This is the real Spira, on the same spot where Gandalf first dragged you into it.”

“But how am I here? And where-” Bilbo cut himself off.

“Your mother and aunts are very busy, though they send their love,” Tar-Miriel assured him. “It is not a trivial task to keep one small fragment of the dream around, even with all of us focusing on it. With the fall of Sin, we are not as strong as we once were. That is why it took so long to bring you back.”

Bilbo had not been aware of the passage of time. He hadn’t existed, so of course time had meant nothing at all. “How long, exactly?” he asked, wondering if everyone he had known was gone already.

“It took more than a day, or a week, or a month,” Tar-Miriel admitted. “But less than a year to bring your scattered thoughts back together.”

Long enough that they might have forgotten about him.

But no, that was what he had wanted. They all deserved to be happy in their new, peaceful world. Would going back to them really be a good thing? Maybe they were better off without the reminder of the world before.

“Why did you do it, if it took so much out of all of you?” Bilbo asked. “I thought you wanted to rest.”

“And we do,” Tar-Miriel assured him. “But you freed us from the cycle of death, and though you may be your mother’s child, we all see you as ours. The last child of the dream, who struggled so hard in the real world. We had to save at least one child if we could. We can rest later.”

“Thank you, but how am I supposed to get off this island? I have no money for the ship, and I doubt the elves will appreciate it if I show up to beg.” He did notice, with no small relief, that he had his sword. It would have been nearly impossible to make it to the Calm Lands without it. Eventually, he supposed, he could swipe enough change from fiends to pay his way. And really, shouldn’t he just be grateful to be alive at this point?

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Tar-Miriel said with a mysterious smile. “Rumors abound of High Summoner Thorin’s missing guardian, the hobbit. As the only remaining hobbit in this world. I don’t think people will expect you to pay for much of anything.”

High Summoner Thorin’s missing guardian?

“The world has changed, Bilbo,” Tar-Miriel told him. “If you decide to go north to the Calm Lands, you will have plenty of time to see how.”

She was gone without warning, leaving Bilbo alone on the beach with a decision to make. He knew one thing: he wasn’t going to just hop on the ship and hope Tar-Miriel had been right. Even if it took all day to get there, he was going to talk to Elrond first.

“Well this is a surprise,” Elrond admitted when Bilbo found him in the temple after a long, sweaty climb. At least the fiends had been manageable. “Bilbo Baggins, guardian to High Summoner Thorin. Who would have thought after that first day that you would make such a name for yourself?”

“It certainly wasn’t my intention, of that I can assure you,” Bilbo replied, furrowing his brow in confusion. Something was off in the temple, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what.

Elrond seemed to notice his distraction. “The fayth has left the temple,” he told him. “Her singing used to echo in these halls, but the day Sin fell from the sky, her voice faltered, and disappeared.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Bilbo found himself saying. “I know she was your mother.”

“Better that she found peace after all these years,” Elrond assured him. “So, Bilbo Baggins, what brings you to Besaid? I would have thought you would be in Erebor, helping your summoner with the construction.”

“We were, ah, separated,” Bilbo admitted. “I’m trying to get back there, actually, but-” He stopped. He hadn’t come here to beg for ship fare, just to get a better idea of the lay of the land. Yet, even without saying it, Elrond seemed to sense his need, for he retrieved a bag from behind the altar.

“It’s a long journey north, made longer if you cannot afford provisions,” Elrond observed, offering him the bag. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly-”

“You have done more toward vanquishing Sin than Yevon ever did, and these offerings were made with that wish,” Elrond assured him.

Bilbo blinked, and remembered one of the visions they had seen in the pyreflies of the Doriath dome. He took the bag of coins. “You made it all the way to Zanarkand, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Elrond confirmed. “And when I faced Lady Luthien, who happens to be an ancestor of mine, and learned of the sacrifice required, I could not do it.”

“Thorin couldn’t either,” Bilbo admitted, suspecting that this was not common knowledge. “So we tried to find another way. Without Isildur’s help, it would have ended in failure.”

Elrond’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Isildur? Really.” The corners of his mouth turned up, a private smile for a private joke. “Perhaps there is something to be said for the stubbornness of dwarves. And Hobbits.”

The captain of the ferry to Kilika, just as Tar-Miriel had said, refused all payment when he saw who sought passage, and even put Bilbo in one of the suites. Though he protested the necessity of it, his protests quieted when he saw how full the ship was, with wide-eyed tourists from Bevelle, and many of Elrond’s tropical elves. There were even dwarves, and while the three groups largely kept to themselves, no one openly fought. Slowly but surely, the taint of Yevon’s influence was washing away.

Kilika was thriving, the once ruined port town restored far past its’ former glory. There were no more coffins floating in the water beside ruined houses. Instead, noisy markets were filled with cheerful, half-dressed merchants, proudly proclaiming the finest dwarven wares. It was all a little much for Bilbo’s sensibilities, but who was he to deny these people their celebration? Just a few months ago, they had not been so fortunate.

The ship to Luca was even more crowded, and Bilbo was again grateful for the gift of privacy that his face suddenly brought him. When he had briefly ventured on deck, hoping to ask someone what in Luca was drawing such a crowd, frenzied whispers had started almost immediately, with claims more outlandish than the most brazen Hobbiton gossips dared utter. He had been forced to make a hasty retreat.

Bilbo had been hoping to disappear in the crowd in Luca, slipping in and out quickly and setting off down the Mi’ihen Highroad before anyone knew he was there. People had barely looked at him when he had accompanied Thorin before, and often didn’t notice until they had already bumped into him. But he hadn’t gone more than two steps off the ship before he heard a cry of, “Bilbo!”

Another few steps and he was engulfed by the hard muscles and thick hair that he had come to associate with dwarves, though without being attacked by a beard. “Fili! Kili!” Bilbo replied, recognizing his captors as the younger dwarves. “What are you two doing here?”

“We should be asking the same of you,” Fili pointed out, his eyebrows raised in silent accusation.

“I honestly don’t know what happened,” Bilbo admitted, though he was bending the truth slightly. They didn’t need the full story. No one did. “One minute I could see through myself, and the next I was waking up on the beach where you found me the first time. That was two days ago.”

“It’s been nine months since then,” Kili told him, his eyes wide. “We’re here trying to recruit for our new Blitzball team.” Of course they were. “What about you?”

“I’m, ah, heading north,” Bilbo said, pursing his lips in displeasure as a significant look passed between Fili and Kili.

After promising without being prompted that they wouldn’t mention seeing him to anyone, Bilbo was finally free to continue, weaving his way through the crowded city until he reached the Mi’ihen Highroad. The Highroad itself was the same as ever: a long dirt path with ruins on either side, but something felt different, and it wasn’t until he was nearly run over that Bilbo realized what it was. The chocobos were gone, replaced by large machines that practically soared down the Highroad. Faced with that or spending days walking, Bilbo readily forked over the fare, watching in awe as smaller machines patrolled the road, taking care of fiends.

As he continued north, along the Djose Highroad and crossing the Moonflow, Bilbo was amazed to see that it was much the same everywhere. People were on the move, and either machines or remnants of the Crusaders protected them. The people of Spira weren’t cowering in their towns and villages anymore, trusting Yevon to watch over them. Indeed, if the presence of advanced machinery was any indication, their views of the Yevon scripture must have loosened a great deal. He wanted to turn to Gandalf and say, ‘look! Look at how people can change!’ But Gandalf was gone.

The elves were back in Guadosalam, and Tauriel told Bilbo softly that not all of the changes in Spira had been good. Macalania Woods were dying, the unique environment provided by the fayth lost forever. The elves were in search of a new wood, though she smiled slightly as she said it. Thranduil was showing more energy than he had in a long time, and that had to be worth something. He had learned to dream again, no longer stagnating in the darkness of the wood.

Bilbo crossed the Thunder Plains frantically. Someone had started work repairing the lightning rod towers, but it was still a deeply unpleasant place.

Macalania woods looked the same as ever to Bilbo, but he trusted the elves to know their business. It did feel a few degrees warmer, but that could just be his nervousness as he approached the entrance to the Calm Lands. With all the strange sights he had seen on his way north, what awaited him at his destination?

He had not expected crowds of tourists betting on fiends racing across the plains, but he sensed Dís’ hand in this. Her Macalania Agency probably saw little traffic with the temple sunk beneath the lake, and if there was one thing the dwarves needed, it was money. Still, he wondered where the chocobos had gone. Not that he missed the creatures no, of course not. But they were crowded out by machines called hovers, tearing across the plains almost constantly. Where did the big yellow birds live now?

The hover left Bilbo near the ravine leading to Isildur’s cave, though the ravine was still filled from the Crusaders’ landslide. The rest of the rubble had been cleared, but apparently no one had thought digging out the cave was worth it. A new path led up the mountainside, steeper than before, but as Bilbo saw no other way forward, he braved it.

There had been crumbling stone pillars along the path before, Bilbo recalled, though the landslide had carried them all away. The new path, he saw, his breath catching in his throat, had crystalline trees on either side, their delicate limbs clearly carved painstakingly by a master craftsman. They glittered and shone in the weak mountain sunlight, looking enough like the trees in Macalania to be recognizable, yet different enough to avoid being a weak imitation. Rather than insist on capturing that exact glow that seemed to emanate from them, Thorin had carved the trees to catch the light, making it look as though they glowed from within. The fact that neither tree was exactly like the other only made them look more real.

Curiously, Bilbo reached for the nearest tree, wondering if it felt at all like the real ones. Not that that would be a selling point.

“Careful,” a familiar deep voice called, sending heat flooding through Bilbo’s body. “They’re sharp, though they don’t splinter into shards like the real ones.”

“Was that an intentional choice, or a happy accident?” Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to turn around, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He scolded himself for his foolishness, but there was always the chance that after the way he had left, Thorin wouldn’t want to see him.

“The shards tore up your feet in Macalania,” Thorin replied, his voice drawing nearer. “I thought I could improve on that.”

A lump settled in Bilbo’s throat, and he reached out and touched the nearest tree carefully, keeping his fingers away from the sharp edges of the trunk. It was smooth to the touch, lacking the fine splinters of the actual trees, for which Bilbo was grateful. He couldn’t see or feel any tool marks, but then he remembered how much Spira had changed. Maybe Thorin had used a tool he had never even heard of.

“They’re beautiful Thorin, really,” Bilbo said, finally turning toward the dwarf. “I don’t know how you managed it.” When he met Thorin’s eyes, he was nearly bowled over by the sheer joy and love shining in the dwarf’s eyes, though it was tempered by disbelief. The passage of time, however short, had left more threads of silver in his hair, giving Bilbo a twinge of guilt. He couldn’t help but think that they were his fault.

“I have had this dream so many times,” Thorin admitted, reaching out a hand hesitantly before stopping himself. “You appeared on the mountain, looking the same as you do now. Is this real?”

Bilbo started at the mention of dreaming, an idea forming in his mind. For a long time, only the fayth had dreamed. The people of Spira had hoped for a better tomorrow, but no one had really believed in it. Now, with the constant threat of death gone, the people of Spira were finally learning to dream again, traveling and seeing their world with their own eyes. Maybe that was the real reason it had taken the fayth a while to bring him back. Maybe he wasn’t just their dream anymore.

“I think it’s real,” Bilbo admitted. “Though, really Thorin. You’re awfully subdued in dreams, aren’t you, if this is all you imagine? I know you don’t want to get your hopes up, but I would have expected at least a welcome home kiss after the way you said good-”

Bilbo’s observations died in his throat when he found his mouth promptly sealed by Thorin, who had apparently only been waiting for permission. Until that moment, some part of him had doubted that he was as real as Tar-Miriel had claimed, that at any time he could start to fade again. But as he kissed Thorin back and felt Thorin’s warmth, the feel of his hair, the way his body contrasted between hard and soft, the taste and feel of his lips as they moved feverishly against his, he felt himself being pushed over the edge. He had to be real. How else could he feel this? 

He wasn’t half a person anymore, waiting on the edge of some unknown doom. He was a Baggins, formerly of Bag End, child and nephew of fayth, destroyer of magic rings, and his journey was finally over.

At some point, Thorin would have to know exactly what had happened. He deserved to know why Bilbo had appeared, left, and appeared again. In turn, Bilbo needed to know what he had missed, beyond what he had been able to see on his journey north. Was Erebor rebuilt? What were the other summoners doing now? It seemed like Captain Bard and his Crusaders had cleared out of the Calm Lands Travel Agency, but what were they doing now other than patrolling roads? He was full of questions, but all of that could wait just a little longer. For now, he was content just being alive, and being home in Thorin’s arms.


End file.
